


Love's Savage Fury

by The Neon Gang (clgfanfic)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, M/M, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Not Really Character Death, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/The%20Neon%20Gang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man from Chris' past returns, sending Team Seven into a desperate search for Larabee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reports of My Death 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by two great pieces of Riptide angst. In fact, the second of those stories was Cinda's very first piece of fan fiction, and she wrote it after asking the author of the first one for permission to put the shoe on the other foot. The original author readily agreed. Years later Cinda (aka Erica Michaels) decided to rewrite her first fan fic story as a Mag 7 fic, and wanted to include the first story to set it up. The original author agreed and wished her well. It was many more years before either of these stories actually came into being.
> 
> This novella is the slashed version of the two M7 gen stories "Reports of My Death" and "Death Strikes Twice." After several folks asked us for a slash version we decided to do the edits and additions, and it's finally done.
> 
> Forgive us for succumbing to the Dark Side and inflicting this mayhem on the Mag 7 crew, but it was fun! It was even more fun to add in the slash relationship… Enjoy!

**Sunday, September 30, 1999**

**8 p.m.**

 

          Vin walked out of the master bathroom and stopped cold. Laying naked in the middle of the Larabee's big king-sized bed was the blond himself. He was grinning, his hand working his cock into full hardness with lazy strokes. The hungry look in the man's hazel eyes made Tanner's own cock jump in response.

          "Took you long enough," Larabee growled. "Get your ass over here."

          Vin grinned and started toward the bed, pulling his T-shirt off and tossing it onto the chair next to the small writing table. His boxers followed. Reaching the bed,        he climbed onto it and slapped Larabee's hand away from the focus of his attention.

"Mine," Vin purred.

Chris chuckled, but that quickly shifted to a groan, then a soft curse as the younger man inhaled his cock, his tongue laving the sensitive underside. "Damn, Vin," he gasped and felt Tanner grin, but his tongue continued to torture him.

Reaching up, Chris cupped the man's head, fighting the desire to thrust his cock down the man's throat. When he knew he had to stop, or do just that, he pushed Vin back and pulled free.

Then, reaching out, he grabbed Vin's arm and dragged him up so the younger man was lying on top of Larabee, their cocks trapped between them. Vin dipped his head, kissing Chris.

Larabee reached up, his fingers tangling into Vin's too-long hair, his tongue thrusting into the man's mouth. Vin moaned and rocked his hips. Chris held him in place, owning his mouth until he heard Tanner whimper.

With a wicked grin the blond shifted, rolling Vin over onto his back on the bed and straddling the man's thighs. Tanner's cock was hard and leaking. Chris reached down and wrapped his fingers around the shaft and squeezed.

Vin bucked his hips up, but he was effectively trapped under the blond.

Chris slowly rubbed the pad of his thumb over the sensitive tip, then gave it a squeeze as well.

"Oh, shit," Tanner gasped.

With his free hand Larabee reached out and pinched Tanner's already hard nipples.

"Damn it, Chris, hurry up."

That made the older man chuckle. He gave one nipple a harder pinch, drawing a soft yelp from the sniper, but precome dribbled from the tip of his cock in response.

Chris shifted to the left and Vin immediately turned onto his side, the blond spooning up behind him, his cock poking at the younger man's ass.

Tanner lifted one leg and Chris began to slide his cock along the man's ass and balls. At the same time, he reached down and splayed his fingers across Tanner's ass, the tip of his middle finger rubbing at the pucker of flesh hidden there.

"Oh, God," Vin gasped. "Chris…"

Larabee used his own precome to moisten his finger, then pressed it inside the younger man.

"Fuck," Vin moaned, trying to press back and sink the finger deeper, but Chris didn't let that happen. "Chris, please," he whined.

Larabee grinned and reached for the tube of KY he'd stuck under his pillow. He flipped the cap up and squeezed. Taking the lube he smeared it over his hard cock, rubbing the rest into Vin's crack and around the tight rim of muscle.

Vin pulled his knee up toward his chest, opening himself to Larabee, who was happy to take advantage of that invitation. He grabbed his cock and guided the tip to that pucker, pressing steadily until he slipped into the man's tight, hot passage.

Both men sighed, Vin's ass quivering around the invading cock.

Chris continued to press in slowly, giving Vin time to adjust as he did. When he was finally buried inside his lover he reached over Vin's hip and took hold of the man's now flaccid cock and began to stroke it as he rocked his hips.

Vin moaned softly, giving himself over to Larabee's administrations. A short time later the younger man was hard again. He began to press back as best he could, encouraging Chris to change gears.

Larabee kept his hand wrapped around Tanner's cock, but his hips picked up speed and power, sliding into the younger man with more powerful thrusts. Vin gurgled with delight.

"Oh, yeah," he breathed. "Feel so damn good, Cowboy."

Chris gave Vin's cock a harder squeeze, then his hand picked up speed as he hips did as well.

"Oh, God," Vin whimpered, his hips trying to meet Chris' rhythm.

Chris reached down and grabbed Tanner's balls, giving them a pull before going back to jerking Tanner off. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer, but then neither was Vin if the pitch of his whimper was any indication.

With a last push of speed and power Chris felt Vin's muscles begin to spasm and, a moment later, he felt the man's come spilling over his fingers. The sensation of Vin's ass trying to devour his cock was the last bit he needed to tip him over into his own climax. His hips took over, jacking into the younger man's body twice more before he felt his seed begin to fill the man's rectum.

Vin gurgled and mumbled, his fingers closing over Chris' as he humped into Larabee's grip.

Several minutes later, they lay in a tangle of arms and legs, skin damp with come and lube. When they had caught their breaths, they climbed off the bed on rubbery legs and headed to the shower to clean off. Their ardor, still being new and strong, Vin quickly found himself pressed against the wall, Chris back inside his ass as the water washed over both of them.

They eventually stumbled back to bed and fell into stated sleep, smiles on both their faces.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, August 1, 1999**

**10 a.m.**

 

          "Still don't like it," Vin grumbled as Larabee piloted the small boat across Lake Granby to the GSP coordinates they had been given the day before.

Standing next to the anxious sniper, undercover operative Ezra Standish leaned back against the railing, enjoying the scenery. "What's not to like, Mr. Tanner? A beautiful day, beautiful location, public space, it's perfect," he said as Larabee eased off the throttle, letting the boat glide to a stop at the designated location.

"This is the spot," Larabee announced, his piercing gaze sweeping over the water, looking for the _Flaming Arrow_ , Benton Whitesides' boat.

Whitesides was a rapidly up and coming militia leader who was using the Internet to gather a larger and larger following of individuals disaffected from local, state and federal government. But more troubling to the ATF was Whitesides' slow accumulation of an impressive arsenal of weapons as well as the various ingredients necessary for homemade explosives.

"We're sittin' ducks out here," Tanner complained, his own gaze searching the boats closest to them.

Chris and Ezra exchanged small grins. Vin was their sniper, had been for eight months, and as such he preferred the advantage of the high ground, but there was none available out on the lake.

"Whitesides won't be stupid enough to start a firefight out here," Larabee said. "Besides, the offer we made is too good to pass up."

"He might if he's been tipped off," Tanner returned. He kew he was probably worrying needlessly, but he couldn't help it. He was in love and he wanted to ensure Chris' safety.

"Thanks to the Kroger incident, Whitesides might know that the ATF's Team Seven is investigating him, but I can assure you that he is completely unaware that we _are_ Team Seven," Standish said, then stepped over and took a seat in one of the well-padded deck chairs. He settled back and sighed contentedly before adding, "He will, of course, be fashionably late."

          "Nothin' fashionable 'bout bein' late," Tanner grumbled, gaze sweeping over the water and boats again. The buzz in his gut was telling him loud and clear that trouble was coming, and he'd learned a long time ago to listen. But there was nothing he could do out on the water, nothing except wait.

Still, he had to admit that Standish was right about it being a beautiful, late summer day, the sun shining down above them in a cloudless blue sky. Boats of various shapes and sizes were on the lake, each filled with people out to enjoy the recent run of perfect weather before the school year began again. The "crowded" conditions, however, made the sniper a little nervous. If they did start trading shots, it was entirely possible some innocent vacationers could end up getting killed – not to mention them.

Larabee walked over to the cooler, opened it and pulled out an icy cold soda. He popped the tab and took a long drink. "As long as he's not too late," he said to Ezra. "I have better things to do than sit around, pretending to fish."

Vin grinned at the comment, remembering their lovemaking last night.

Larabee turned, gaze picking through the boats closest to them until he spotted the _Jolly Codger_ , the second small fishing boat where the other four members of his team would be monitoring the meeting with some of the sophisticated surveillance equipment that everyone but JD hated.

The three agents lapsed into a comfortable silence as they continued to wait.

A little less than twenty minutes later, Tanner nodded and said, "Off t' the right; boat comin' right at us."

"That's starboard, Mr. Tanner," Standish said dryly.

Chris stood, watching the approaching boat and noting that if they had to chase the craft, there was no way their fishing boat was going to be able to match the maneuverability of Whitesides' expensive pleasure craft, even with the powerful engine hidden under the run-down exterior of the boat.

Tanner headed for the bow, the breeze blowing over the water lifting his shoulder-length chestnut hair off his shoulders. Standish remained at the stern.

"Yo, _Wild and Woolly_ , permission to come alongside?" a voice cracked over the radio which had been set to a pre-agreed upon frequency.

"Yo?" Ezra echoed, frowning. "The quality of Benton's lackeys is evidentially declining."

Larabee stepped back into the wheelhouse and picked up the mike, depressing the key and saying, "You're late, Whitesides. Let's get this over with." Tossing the mike down, he stepped back out and waved them in.

"Chris," Vin called softly, "they've got somethin' under a tarp up front, might be some kind 'a weapon. Watch yer back, Cowboy."

The blond nodded, waving again as the _Flaming Arrow_ glided up next to the stationary fishing boat. As it did, a tall, auburn-haired man stepped out onto the deck.

"Ah, Landry," Ezra called in greeting, recognizing Benton's youngest son. "We were beginning to wonder if your father actually planned to attend this little meeting."

The young man, just barely twenty-one, flashed the undercover agent a smile, saying, "Vic, you should know my father better than that. He goes wherever the best deals are."

Standish moved closer to Larabee. "I take it your father's ready to get down to business then?"

Landry Whitesides' smile widened. "Business? Yeah, absolutely. I definitely think it's time we got down to business, Vic. Now, boys!"

          Two young men standing at the rail of the _Flaming Arrow_ lifted H &Ks, squeezing off short bursts that ripped through the wheelhouse windows on the _Wild and Woolly_. Sounds of splintering wood and shattering glass drown out the few screams from vacationers who were close enough to hear the gunfire. Boats immediately began to pull away from the firefight, except one.

          "Get your hands up!" one of the shooters yelled at the three agents.

          "What the hell is going on here, Landry?" Standish demanded. "We—"

          One of the other young men raked the side of the boat with another burst of fire.

          "All right!" Larabee bellowed, lifting his hands. He couldn't allow his people to get killed. Besides, he needed to buy some time for Buck and the others to get over to them. Still, he didn't like the looks of this, not at all.

Standish and Tanner followed his lead.

          "Now, come down to the railing," Landry Whitesides ordered, looking excited and nervous at the same time. "Nice and slow."

          The three agents moved slowly toward the railing at the starboard side of the boat. But as Larabee and Tanner drew closer, Chris dived to the side and rounded the edge of the wheelhouse, out of sight of Whitesides and his two shooters. Vin ducked into the wheelhouse, drawing his Glock and dropping one of the men holding a H&K, the other firing a burst of cover fire and yelling for reinforcements.

          Four more kids scrambled up onto the deck of the other boat, one of them pulling the tarp back to reveal a Vietnam-era M-60 that he trained on the _Wild and Woolly_. He opened fire.

          Whitesides and the other shooter ran forward, leaping for the bow of the _Wild and Woolly_ , others heading for the side at the stern.

Vin killed one of the pair boarding at the stern, then ducked down when the man with the H&K opened up. He heard the sound of Larabee's Colt 1911 as Chris dropped the shooter with Whitesides, Ezra's SIG barked, sending the second boarder at the back toppling overboard into the lake.

          Vin slipped out of the wheelhouse, grabbing a quick look toward the front of the boat where he saw Chris wrestling with one of Whitesides' boys, who was holding a large knife and had at least twenty-five pounds of advantage on Larabee.

"Come on, son," the blond said, "you don't want to do this."

The man behind the M60 caught sight of Tanner and swung the gun around and squeezed off a burst, forcing Vin back into the cover of the wheelhouse.

Vin could hear that Chris was losing ground and risked a peek around the door only to see the big man grinning evilly as he slashed at Larabee's throat with the knife. Noise from the stern told the sniper Standish was busy with Landry.

No way he was letting Chris get killed.

          Ignoring the danger to himself from the M60 on the _Flaming Arrow_ , Vin bolted from the wheelhouse, stood, and took quick aim at the kid trying to kill Larabee, certain he could pick him off without endangering Chris. He squeezed the trigger.

          It would have been an easy shot for the sniper, but just as his finger tightened on the trigger he was hit from behind by Whitesides.

Tanner's aim shifted slightly as the Glock fired.

Vin barely had time to register the way Chris jerked convulsively and then began to crumble before he himself was fighting desperately for his life.

          It was a short, pitched battle and it ended abruptly when Tanner managed to snake his arm around the attacking man's neck. Landry reached for a knife in a sheath on his belt and the ATF agent's Army training took over. Vin lifted and dropped the young man, his neck snapping with an audible popping sound.

          Fire from the _Jolly Codger_ dropped the man behind the M60 and, suddenly, the _Flaming Arrow's_ engines went from a muted rumble to a full throated roar as it pulled swiftly away from the _Wild and Woolly_. The _Jolly Codger_ swung away after them.

          Still slightly dazed from the hard blow he had taken in the fight with Landry, Vin staggered forward, calling "Chris?"

          There was no immediate reply and Tanner stumbled his way forward, his voice growing more anxious as he continued to call for the man. When he reached the bow and still hadn't seen or heard anything from Chris yet, the anxiety turned to panic.

Dropping to his belly, Vin leaned over the edge of the hull, searching the water for some sign of the missing man and calling, "Larabee! Chris!"

          There was still no answer, only the sloshing sound of the lake against the hull and the various sounds of other boats.

Tanner's mind shifted back, playing out the last few seconds he'd seen Chris again in awful detail. He clearly remembered the way Larabee had moved as if he'd been struck, his expression of shock and pain, then how he'd gone limp, starting to fall while still locked in hand-to-hand combat with the knife-wielding teen.

          "Oh God no," Vin moaned softly, unwilling to accept the implications of the memory. "Chris! Answer me, damn it!"

          He forced himself to his feet, making a quick search of the _Wild and Woolly_ and finding Ezra just coming to, dazed but otherwise unharmed. He called for Larabee again, but there was still no reply.

          Finally, not knowing what else he could do, he dove over the side of the boat, searching underwater for the missing man. He surfaced, gasping for air, then dove again, refusing to stop even after the _Jolly Codger_ returned, Ezra and the others all trying to coax him back into the boat.

          Again and again he surfaced, gulped more air and dove again, spots finally swimming into his vision, exploding in front of his eyes. And then nothing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**10:35 a.m.**

 

          Ezra came to with a low groan. He heard Vin calling for Larabee, but it sounded like he had cotton stuffed into his ears. Still, the desperation in the man's voice seeped into his consciousness and forced him onto his hands and knees. He paused there, trying to clear his head.

The undercover man was vaguely aware of the fact that Tanner stopped to check on him, but Ezra was still trying to remember how to breathe and was unable to say anything.

          Then he heard Tanner calling for Chris again, his voice panicked, and then the sound of a splash.

          A splash?

          Struggling to his feet, Standish staggered over to the railing and peered down. His vision was still a little blurry, but he could see Tanner in the water, diving, surfacing, and diving again.

And then the reality of what was happening slowly sunk in. _Oh my God. Not that._

          "Vin!" he called, but the sniper didn't seem to hear him.

          The sound of another boat approaching cut through Standish's rising fear and he looked up to see the _Jolly Codger_ pulling up alongside them. Buck and Nathan were the first to board, both men hurrying over to him.

          "What happened?" Wilmington demanded.

          "Whitesides must have known who we were, although I cannot see how," Ezra said. "They opened fire on us."

          "We know that! Where's Chris and Vin?" the ladies' man demanded.

          Standish shook his head, looking out at the sniper as he surfaced.

          "Oh, Christ!" Wilmington yelped, when he saw Tanner suck in a gulp of air and dive under the water again. Moments later he was in the water beside the man. "Vin!" he yelled, but Tanner was already underwater again.

          Buck grabbed the younger man when he surfaced again. "Vin!"

          Tanner struggled in the grip, grief-glazed blue eyes wide and unseeing. "Lemme go!"

          "Vin!" Buck snapped, giving the man a hard shake. "Where's Chris?"

          "Chris," Vin said, the name coming out as a painful moan. "We've gotta find 'im, Buck!"

          "Chris fell overboard?" Wilmington questioned.

          Tanner nodded, his face screwing up into a mask of agonized horror. "I shot 'im, Buck. Oh God. I— I killed 'im." And then he jerked out of Wilmington's hands and dove again, and again, and again.

          Buck let him go, his own heart constricting painfully in his chest. He looked back at the boat and could tell by their shocked expressions that the others had heard Tanner's remarks.

          "Buck!" Nathan barked several minutes later. "Y' got to get him out of there," the medic called. He could see Tanner struggling to breathe and knew a few more dives and he was going to drown.

          Wilmington caught Vin the next time he surfaced, slipping an arm around his chest and dragging him back to the _Wild and Woolly_. Tanner didn't want to go and he fought wildly, but Buck's grip was tight and the sniper exhausted.

          Josiah helped drag Tanner back up onto the deck. "Lemme go!" Vin mewed. "Lemme go."

          "Take it easy, son," Josiah said, trying to soothe the man, but Tanner was having none of it.

          "Lemme go! I gotta find Chris," he gasped. "I gotta find Chris!"

          Nathan grabbed him, snapping, "Ya gotta let me get a look at ya! You're gonna drown you go back in that water!"

          Vin looked up at the black man, eyes full of unshed tears, begging. "Nate, please. I shot 'im. Oh, God… I shot 'im. I killed Chris. Oh, God. What am I gonna do, Nate? I killed 'im."

          "Easy, Vin," Nathan said, "easy, we'll figure this out, I promise you."

          "I killed 'im," Vin said, nearly strangling on the words. He wrapped his arms around his belly a moment before he it turned inside out and he was vomiting over the side of the deck as his soul tried to claw its way out of his body.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11:10 a.m.**

 

          Several minutes later, Tanner was seated on the end of one of the deck chairs, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He trembled visibly, and his eyes were vacant and glazed.

          Wilmington walked over and sat down behind the miserable man. Reaching out, he rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Vin, tell us what happened," he instructed gently. "What happened to Chris?"

          "I shot 'im, Buck. God help me, I shot 'im."

          The comment made no sense to the ladies' man. Vin and Chris were friends, close friends, had been from the moment they met. He was relatively sure that they had crossed that threshold and become something more than friends, too. He didn't understand it, but he appreciated it, more than he could say, because Chris' relationship with Vin had brought back the Larabee Buck knew and loved. There was no way Tanner would ever hurt Chris, not on purpose, anyway.

"Tell me the whole story, Junior," he urged kindly.

          Vin did, slowly, haltingly, his throat so tight he nearly choked on every word. And, as he spoke, the looks on the others' faces went from mild worry to bewildered shock. It was plain that they couldn't believe what they were hearing, but they had no choice. Larabee wasn't there.

          "How the hell did this happen?" JD asked softly when Vin's words finally came to an end.

          It was the same question Tanner had been asking himself. "I don't know!" he cried. "I's aimin' fer the bastard who was gonna slit his throat," he managed, his accent growing thicker than usual. "I got hit from behind at the same time I fired! I looked fer 'im, JD. I tried! I swear t' God I tried!" he told them all, looking from one face to another. "I— I killed Chris!" he said, his voice cracking again as his control slipped away.

          "We know you tried, son," Josiah said, reaching out to rest his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

          "He was gone, J'siah!" Tanner cried. "He was already gone!" Then, catching himself abruptly, he closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and finished the story. "When I couldn't find 'im, I— I dove in. I kept lookin', but, but—"

          "I'll call the local authorities, get a search started," Nathan said quietly and left.

          Stunned by the suddenness of the disaster, Buck just shook his head, too staggered to say anything more.

          The silence stretched on, the only sounds Vin's uneven breathing and the normal sounds of boats on the lake.

Finally, Buck whispered, "Are you sure, Vin?"

          Tanner's only answer was to turn, lift his head, and stare at the man, letting the horror in his eyes speak for him.

          Responding instinctively, Buck reached out and slipped his hand around the back of Vin's neck. He could feel the muscles, knotted with tension. Tanner was strung so tightly Wilmington could feel the vibration that passed through the sniper's body when he touched him.

"Look, Whitesides' boat got away. Maybe Chris was on the _Flaming Arrow_ ," the ladies' man offered.

          Vin looked up again, his voice harsh as he growled, "Y' don't believe that anymore 'n I do."

          Buck hesitated, feeling the tears as they began to sting his eyes. "Hell, Vin, I don't know what to believe." _But I sure as hell don't want to think he's gone_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**10:30 p.m.**

 

          The next several hours passed in a fog for Vin and the other members of Team Seven. Police, State Park Rangers, Colorado Search and Rescue, and a parade of other law enforcement personnel arrived, asked their questions and moved on. The Search and Rescue people put divers in the water until it started to get dark. They located two of the attackers, but failed to find Larabee's body.

          Finally, Team Seven, was allowed to go. They headed back to Denver, all of them congregating at Larabee's ranch as if they expected the man to be there, waiting for them. But the house was dark and silent when they arrived.

          Once inside, they forced themselves to eat the burgers they had stopped and picked up on the way, then scattered to grab some much-needed sleep. Josiah took one of the sofas, Nathan one of the recliners, and JD the other. Still a little unsteady, Ezra had been put in the guest bedroom – generally referred to as "Vin's room" since he spent more time in it than anyone else.

Buck guided Vin into the master bedroom, putting the sniper to bed in Larabee's room.

          "Get some rest, Junior," he said softly. "It's been a long, bad day. We'll start fresh in the morning, get this figured out."

          Josiah appeared behind the ladies' man. "Think I'll make sure he gets to sleep."

          Buck nodded. He doubted Tanner would be able to sleep, no matter how badly his body craved it. He sighed softly and headed to find a place to crash.

Josiah stepped into the room. Vin already looked like one of the walking dead. He was pale and drawn, his eyes ringed and haunted, and when he looked up from the pillow and whispered, "C'n y' stay a little while? Please?"

Josiah simply nodded, turned off the light, and climbed into bed next to the trembling man, pulling him into an embrace like he might a frightened child who had woken from a bad dream, holding him close until exhaustion finally forced Vin to sleep.

Unlike Buck, he knew the two men had become lovers, and could guess how hard this was for Tanner. If he could make any of this a little easier, he'd do it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, August 2, 1999**

**3 a.m.**

 

          Vin woke in the darkness. He could remember Josiah climbing into bed and lying down beside him, holding him, he thought, but that was all. Now the big man was gone and he was alone, more alone than he'd ever felt.

He stared up at the ceiling, enough moonlight filtering in past the open windows to make the wooden beams clearly visible. He could smell Larabee's scent on the sheets and pillow and shivered, knowing he would never see the man again, and it was all his fault. The silence in the room had a vacant feeling to it that he couldn't define, but it was different from the times when he'd been there in the house alone, Chris somewhere else in the house, or out on the property.

          _Empty_ , he decided. And this was the way it was going to be from now on.

He knew Larabee had left him the ranch in his will, Chris had told him when he made the change, so it was his place now, whether or not he wanted it – his place, his home, his responsibility. It now fell to him to see to it that the property and the horses were taken care of, but he'd never felt so alone in his entire life, so utterly place-less. He wanted to scream and fight and cry, but he felt too numb, too dead inside, to even bother.

It took a while, but exhaustion inevitably caught up with him again and he slipped into a restless sleep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**5 a.m.**

 

Vin was wide awake again, his own cry of terror ringing in his ears as he sat bolt upright in the bed, heart pounding wildly from the dreams that had tormented him.

          "Mr. Tanner? Vin, are you all right?" Ezra asked from outside the closed bedroom door. Then he knocked softly and cautiously opened the door. "Vin? I heard you call. Is something the matter?"

          "I killed 'im, Ezra. I killed 'im," Tanner muttered softly, his voice dripping with self-loathing. He drew his knees up and rested his forehead against them, his arms wrapped around his shins. Huddled in a ball of utter misery, he moaned quietly, "I killed 'im. I killed Chris. How 'm I gonna live with that? How?"

          "You don't know that, Vin," Ezra protested, coming closer and then sitting down on the bed beside the man. "One of Whitesides' men might have shot him. There's no way to prove that it was your fault."

          "Not 'til they find the body an' do a ballistics check," he snapped, almost getting sick to his stomach when an image of Larabee's water-bloated body flashed through his mind.

Having seen the special bond between Vin and Chris begin, grow, and flourish, Ezra understood at least something of what the two men shared and he just couldn't accept that it could be lost so tragically, so soon. "Vin—"

          "Go back t' bed, Ezra," he said, beginning to rock slightly, unable to contain his anguish. "Leave me be… jist leave me be."

          Ezra was afraid to leave Vin alone right now, but he couldn't find a reasonable excuse to stay, so he stood. "Vin," he said softly, "please, don't do this to yourself. Wait. Let us get the facts first, and—"

          "An' if it turns out it _was_ m' bullet?" Tanner asked him, anger flashing in his bloodshot blue eyes.

          Ezra squared his shoulders. "Even if that does prove to be the case, it was an accident, Vin. We all know that you would never intentionally harm Chris."

          "What y'all know don't mean shit," Vin hissed nastily. "He's dead, Ezra. Y' get that? He's _dead!_ An' _I_ killed 'im!"

          Vin's voice was so full of pain, of rampant anguish, that Ezra's eyes filled with tears and his throat tightened as the reality of Chris' death forced its way past the subconscious barrier of disbelief he had managed to erect. It had simply been too difficult to imagine what day-to-day life would be like without Chris Larabee to entertain the possibility – until now. And this was one loss no degree of comfort from another friend could assuage, so Ezra did the only thing he could. He sat back down again and silently reached out to hold Vin, rocking with him and letting him know that he didn't mourn alone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	2. Reports of My Death 2

**5:45 a.m.**

 

          Later, when Vin finally slipped back into an exhausted sleep, Ezra eased him down, covered him, and silently left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Not feeling sleepy himself, he returned to the guest bedroom, closed the door, and turned on the light, determined to sit down and write out the events as he remembered them, hoping it might trigger some useful memory he was unaware of.

          He took a seat at the small writing desk in the corner of the guest room and opened the thin drawer under the tabletop, hoping to find paper and a pen. But what he found instead was a small, black leather journal.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he pulled the journal out, turning it over in his hands and taking some small measure of comfort in the feel of the soft leather under his fingertips. He could remember seeing Vin with the book once. He had been sitting, writing in it while out on the deck. Chris had been standing close by, keeping an eye on the steaks cooking on the barbeque.

          The fact that he might never see that particular scene again was too much to bear and Ezra opened the journal at random to escape his own thoughts, scanning the writing in search of something that might take his mind away from the unfolding tragedy.

 

_Beneath the sky, blurred by mist and wind,_

_I am reborn, watching violet heads_

_of crocuses, erupting past stiff earth after_

_dying for a season._

_I have watched my own dark soul_

_reappear each morning after_

_entering the next world_

_only to return to this one,_

_alone._

 

          Alone.

Yes, Vin was feeling very much alone, even though there were five men who wanted to stand with him, to comfort him. Ezra felt a flare of anger at the sniper, but it was quickly extinguished by sympathy. Vin was lost in a morass of grief and guilt. _How 'm I supposed t' live with that?_

          Standish sighed heavily, worried about their poet.

Vin Tanner wasn't alone, no matter what he thought at the moment. And he was a survivor, if anyone could truly be called such. But Ezra had a feeling that it was due, in large part, to the stability he had found as part of Team Seven. And that, they all knew, was itself rooted in the deep friendship Vin shared with Chris Larabee – a friendship that had blossomed into love. With Larabee gone, it was doubtful that Vin would cling to the same optimistic outlook they had all come to depend upon. And, if he couldn't, they all were going to have a real fight on their hands.

They couldn't really be sure what Vin was capable of right now. Not when he was being driven by grief and guilt. They were simply going to have to take some steps to protect Vin from himself until he was over this initial shock. And there was no time like the present to get started.

He stood, closed the journal, and slid it back into the drawer. He would go wake Buck and Josiah, tell them what he was thinking first and see if they agreed with him. If so, they could wake the others and do what had to be done, hopefully before Vin woke again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, August 1, 1999**

**8 p.m.**

 

          Chris Larabee came to with a pounding headache. He groaned and tried to lick his chapped lips, but the inside of his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with clods of dirt. He choked slightly and coughed, sludge breaking free from the back of his throat. He spat it out and fought back the urge to throw up.

          _What the hell is going on?_

          He lifted his chin and tried to concentrate, but his thoughts were muddy and sluggish and they slipped away from him. He concentrated on breathing for a while, hawked out a few more wads of foul-tasting mucus, and then forced his eyes open.

He was sitting in a small, bare concrete room. He was also tied to a wooden chair, which definitely ruled out the really bad hangover theory he was just beginning to create from the disjointed images in his head. But he hadn't had a hangover like that since–

He killed the thought. The last thing he remembered clearly was setting out on the _Wild and Woolly_ to meet with Benton Whitesides.

Yeah, he'd been out on the boat, with Vin and Ezra.

He glanced around the room, but the other two men were not there with him. _Where the hell are they?_

 _Think_ , he snapped at himself. He'd been on the boat… and… and then it had all gone to hell.

He tried to focus on the events as they had unfolded, but his memories were fractured, gaps making it impossible to recreate a timeline, or to come up with an understanding of how he'd gotten from the lake to where he was now. Wherever the hell this was.

          Vin had been anxious. Whitesides had showed up.

No, that wasn't right, it wasn't the old man, it was one of his kids… and there was gunfire… and a big kid with a knife. Christ, they'd been attacked by a boatload of kids! Then he remembered a sharp pain in his side.

He must have gotten shot, or stabbed. But given that he'd been standing on the deck, engaged in a pitched hand-to-hand battle with a knife-wielding thug, bullets flying all around him, that wasn't a wholly unexpected result.

He glanced down at his side with a fatalistic curiosity about the possible damage he'd sustained. His eyes widened slightly when he saw a small, circular blood stain on his shirt. Definitely not enough for a bullet wound.

          He frowned, nausea churning in his belly as his vision began to constrict. He fought to hold on to consciousness, panting slightly. _Shit_. _What the hell's going on?_

He glanced around the room again. He was alone in a… cell, he decided. Where's Vin? Ezra? Had they survived? Had the others arrived in time?

The wail of dry hinges heralded the arrival of a man.

Chris stared at him as he entered, followed by three others, all young men, maybe teenagers, like the ones on the boat. The boys looked like any of the nameless street rats who lived in the abandoned buildings in Vin's neighborhood of Purgatory. He frowned.

There was something familiar about the older man, something he knew he should remember. Frustration tugged at the edges of his memory, but he couldn't concentrate well enough to pull up a name, or a location where he'd seen the man before, but he was sure he had seen him, known him, or known about him at some point in the past.

Larabee's eyes narrowed as he took in the man's slightly stooped posture and his thinning gray-brown hair that looked as if he'd pulled out handfuls here and there. He looked up, meeting the dark eyes, narrowed and burning with a fire the ATF agent could only call "inhuman."

"Who are you?" Chris demanded, his voice sounding weaker than he'd hoped.

"Is that really what you want to know?" the man asked, the question followed by a high-pitched titter that set Larabee's nerves on edge. "You want to know who _I_ am?" The man laughed again, the high-pitched trill sending a cold chill snaking down Larabee's back. The man was crazy—certified, batshit crazy.

"I know you," Chris said, his eyes narrowing as he tried again to remember, but his thoughts were still too scattered. _Drugged_ , he realized. He'd been drugged somehow.

"I heard, you know… I heard what you did to her," the man said softly, almost seductively as he began to circle slowly around the bound ATF agent. "I heard how you killed her."

"What?" Larabee snapped. "Killed who? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, yes, I heard. I heard, and I listened… listened well. I listened and I learned… about pain. Yes, pain. I learned about the magic of pain while I was gone." He stopped in front of Larabee, asking, "Do you know anything about pain? Do you know that pain can heal?" But he didn't wait for an answer, beginning to circle again. "No. No, you don't understand… you never understood. Why did you kill her? She… she was the most beautiful thing I ever saw… most beautiful."

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but—"

"Larabee, Christopher Michael. Born 21 March 1960," the man intoned, pulling a scalpel from the pocket of his baggy field jacket and removing the plastic guard over the blade as he walked. He stopped, holding the instrument next to the corner of Larabee's eye. "Blond hair, hazel eyes… 165 pounds… six foot tall… 39 years old, this year."

Chris froze as soon as he saw the scalpel, willing himself to remain absolutely still. He knew if he moved, even a little, the blade could blind him. "What else do you know?" he asked softly, watching two of the boys as they held onto each other, giggling madly. They were definitely high on something, and clearly enjoying the way he was being made to sweat.

"Christopher Michael Larabee," the man sing-songed. "Entered the Navy right out of high school… ten years of service… promoted… four years in the Teams… then college for two years, to finish your degree… in Criminal Justice."

"You've done your homework," Chris said, wishing the man would move the damn blade, or cut him and be done with it.

"College man, yes, a college man… then you joined the Denver PD, rising swiftly through the ranks to become a detective… in Homicide. Your time in the SEALs stood you in good stead among your brothers in blue, yes?"

"There a point to all this?" Chris snapped.

"Point? A point?" the man screeched, then nearly choked on his own wild laughter. "Oh, Christopher… Christopher, Christopher, Christopher… the point, my dear Christopher, will become clear. Oh, yes, definitely clear, Detective Larabee."

"Special Agent Larabee," Chris corrected. "I left the force, joined the ATF."

"Yes, yes, of course you did," the man said, clearly annoyed at having Chris tell any of his own story. He jerked the blade away from Larabee's eye and ran the safe, blunted edge over the agent's short hair, then reached up, grabbed a lock and sliced it off. He let the shorn hairs fall like sand from between his fingers, tittering again.

Larabee knew the man was insane, but he wasn't sure what he wanted from him, or how and why he'd been abducted. Still, he could sense that the man enjoyed pain, and he could make a reasonable assumption that he'd probably practiced inflicting it on animals, children, or the weak.

"Have you ever watched the light dancing on the edge of a blade, Christopher?" he asked, slowly waving the scalpel in front of Larabee's face. "See how it skates across the surface, twisting, turning, seeking blood…"

The two teens started giggling again, their bodies undulating like the scalpel in the madman's hand.

"I listened. I opened my heart to them… to all of them, but they didn't understand. They couldn't, you see. No. No, they couldn't see the beauty I saw. Beauty like nothing you can imagine, Christopher. Beauty as pure as God, hiding under their skins… but I saw it. I saw God there, and when I revealed Him, He spoke the truth to me."

A shot of bitter fear rocketed through Chris' veins, leaving him short of breath and trembling. Now he knew why the man looked familiar. He was "The Artist," the name the press had given a serial killer who had stalked young, beautiful women in Denver during Larabee's last year as a beat cop, before he'd been transferred to Homicide. He had been part of a detail protecting two people who had escaped the serial killer, one of them the future Mrs. Larabee, Sarah Connelly.

This was Robert Seiler.

But Seiler had been captured, convicted, and sentenced to life in a mental institution. How the hell had he gotten out?

"Ah, I see you _do_ remember me!" Seiler said, smiling, his eyes alight with the same madness Chris could now remember catching a glimpse of when he'd seen Seiler being brought in to be booked. "Good, that's good, Christopher. I'm so glad you remember me. We have so much to look forward to, you and I." He leaned over, whispering into Larabee's ear, "Her beauty still lives, you know. It lives. Oh, yes, it lives. It lives… under _your_ skin."

Chris trembled again, knowing Seiler was talking about Sarah, his only target to escape unharmed. Then the scalpel flashed back into view, slicing into his flesh, and Larabee yelped. The next time, he screamed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, August 2, 1999**

**8:30 a.m.**

 

          The morning passed in a slow-moving fog for the remaining members of Team Seven. Travis stopped by the office, intending to offer his condolences and support, but the apathetic, red-eyed stares that greeted him told him more than anything else could about what these men were going through and he knew no platitudes could help them, so he settled on the truth.

          "Gentlemen," he greeted and the six agents looked up, Tanner unable to meet his eyes. "The lake has been searched. The divers found two bodies, both of them Landry's men. As of now, Agent Larabee is officially listed as 'missing' and an investigation will move forward."

          "We want in," Buck stated firmly.

          Travis nodded. "I expected as much. I've asked for Angelo Vargus to head up the FBI's side of the investigation. He'll be here tomorrow. He'll need to interview each of you," he added, bracing for their reactions.

          "Us?" Standish snapped. "Surely you don't suspect any of us—"

          "No, Agent Standish, I do not," Travis interrupted gruffly. "But I _do_ expect you to give the man your _full_ cooperation. And, please, bear in mind that he's just trying to do his job in order to help you – _all_ of you." He paused, trying to gauge the team's mood and whether they might cooperate, but it was really impossible to tell. They had closed ranks, just like he had expected them to.

          With a soft sigh, Travis turned and left the men to grieve.

          A cell phone rang, and they each started slightly. Ezra fished into his jacket pocket and removed the phone he used as his undercover persona. "Styles," he answered.

          _"Vic, we need to talk."_

          "Benton, what the hell was that—"

          _"Not over the phone,"_ Whitesides interrupted.

          The others all watched as Ezra said, "Fine, meet me at the deli at the Museum of Nature and Science. Two hours."

          _"I'll be there."_

          Ezra snapped the cell phone closed. "Benton sounds rather anxious to speak to me."

          "You're not going without backup," Buck said, leaning forward with a long sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering how in the world this had happened.

          "I should think not," Ezra replied.

          "Nathan, you and Josiah go with Ezra," Wilmington said.

          The two agents nodded.

          "I hate to bring this up," Ezra said softly into the silence that followed, "but does Mr. Larabee have any family that needs to be notified?"

          Buck looked up, startled that he'd forgotten. He nodded. "Sarah's brother needs to be called. I'll do that," he said, sliding a glance at Vin, who sat hunched over in his chair like he'd just been gut shot.

          "I should do it," Tanner said softly. "It's m' fault; I ought t' tell his family."

          "No," Buck said. "Damn it, Vin, we don't know whose fault it was. You got hit, hard, from behind, it rattled you. You don't know you—"

          "I know," Tanner interrupted, his voice tight, quiet, shaking almost as much as the man himself.

          "Buck, do you know Chris' brother-in-law?" Josiah asked the ladies' man.

          Wilmington nodded, saying, "Yeah."

          Sanchez looked over at Vin. "Seems to me that kind of news should come from a friend, Vin, not a stranger."

          Tanner's jaw muscles twitched wildly and he looked like he might argue for a moment, but then he nodded, his body appearing to deflate right before their eyes.

          Buck shot the profiler a grateful look, then stood and headed for Larabee's office to place the call. And Vin watched him go, a desperate, haunted expression on his face the rest knew they'd never forget.

          "Well, it appears that we are left to launch the investigation," Ezra said, green eyes meeting Josiah's blue in a silent request for support.

          "Investigation?" JD asked the undercover man.

          "Of course," Standish replied. "This was our case. No one knows the details better than we do. It stands to reason that we should continue and bring Benton Whitesides to the justice he so richly deserves. He and that entire nest of vipers!"

          Josiah nodded. "I concur, brother."

          Nathan and JD nodded as well.

"I'm in," the medic replied.

          "Me, too," JD added, then he looked at Tanner. "Vin?"

          Tanner nodded, but his eyes remained dull and lifeless.

          "The boat," JD said. "We should start with the boat that attacked us."

          "The _Flaming Arrow_ ," Vin said softly.

          Dunne turned to his computer and started to work. Josiah clapped Nathan on the back, saying, "Why don't we get over to the Museum and have a look around. We'll stop by and see what the coroner can tell us about the men with Landry after the meet."

          "Sounds good to me," Nathan said, standing. "You'll be all right?" he asked Ezra, who had silently assumed the mantel of Vin's guardian for the time being.

          Standish inclined his head to the side, letting the medic know he would, at least, do his best.

          The two agents nodded and left.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Less than an hour later JD had unearthed the registration records for the _Flaming Arrow_ and had them up on the computer screen. "Here it is, guys," he called.

          Buck and Ezra walked over, Vin joining them a few moments later.

          "Curious," the undercover man said. "Why would a boat owned by a corporation in Singapore, with a U.S. subsidiary in San Francisco, be in a lake in Colorado?"

          "Maybe someone was vacationing up here," Buck suggested.

          "Monterey, Big Sur, yes, even Mazatlán or Acapulco," Ezra replied, "but not Colorado."

          "Maybe it's just a tax write-off," JD offered.

          "Who owns the San Francisco subsidiary?" Standish questioned.

          JD shrugged. "Don't know yet, the computer's still searching."

          Ezra checked the clock. "I'd better be off."

          "Be careful," Buck told him as Standish grabbed his tailored jacket and pulled it on.

          "I am always careful, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra replied and headed out for his meeting with Whitesides.

          The other three men settled back to wait again, each of them hoping the computer might give them some answers.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 10 a.m.**

**Museum of Science and Nature**

 

          Ezra purchased a cup of coffee and took a seat at one of the round tables in the large open space in front of the deli and waited. He was almost half finished when Whitesides walked up and sat down across from him.

          "I hope you have a satisfactory explanation for what occurred yesterday at the lake," he said testily.

          Whitesides glanced around a little nervously, then looked back at Ezra and said, "I have no idea what Landry was thinking yesterday."

          Standish snorted derisively. "Surely you don't expect me to believe that, do you, Benton?"

          "I'm telling you the truth, Styles," the older man said. Benton Whitesides was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early sixties. His strong features and salt and pepper gray hair gave him an air of authority that he used to full advantage. But it was his background, a life of privilege, money, and education that made him dangerous as a growing militia leader. The older man huffed out a breath and said quietly, "I have lost my son, Mr. Styles, and not to your bullets."

          Ezra frowned slightly. "I don't understand."

          "Landry had fallen into a coarse crowd. He met them in the clubs he frequented. He began taking drugs there, I'm sure of it. I tried to rectify the situation, but the boy was always more than a handful. He began to associate with, well, with street trash – immigrant rabble and the worst of the lowlife in Purgatory. I have no doubt that he intended to steal the arms you had for me in order to raise money for his drug habit."

          "Oh, please, Benton, you can do better than that," Ezra sneered. "Landry has his own—"

          "No, he doesn't. I cut him off when I saw who he was associating with. He was sleeping with a black whore, for God's sake!" He reined in his temper and glanced around, only a few of the closest patrons having noticed his outburst.

          "You cut off your own son?"

          Benton nodded. "I had no choice. The drugs were killing him, killing the good young man I'd made. He was running with the very people I am determined to rid this country of."

          "Why us?" Standish demanded. "Why target us?"

          "You were timely, convenient. He knew about the meeting, and he knew what the weapons were worth."

          "And you, Benton?"

          "What do you mean?"

          "Are we now on your assassination list for killing your son?"

          Whitesides' gray eyes flashed, but he said, "No. No, you did what you had to do, I understand that. You were attacked, you responded. I hold the man making this new street drug, this poison that addicted my son, responsible."

          "And our business deal?"

          "I'm prepared to complete it."

          "I see," Ezra replied. "I'll have to discuss it with my associates. We lost a man as well."

          "I understand. If I don't hear from you within forty-eight hours, I'll have to find another source."

          Ezra nodded his understanding.

          Whitesides stood and paused, looking down at the man he knew as Victor Styles. "I've lost my son to the filth this country's government allows to roam free in our streets. I will _not_ lose another one. You and your friends have always seemed to understand my position. I hope that hasn't changed." And then he turned and stalked off.

          A few moments later Josiah and Nathan joined Ezra at his table, Standish saying, "He said he had no idea what Landry planned."

          "Do you believe him?" Josiah asked him.

          "I'm not sure," Ezra replied, "but I think I might."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Federal Building**

**1:30 p.m.**

 

          The trail Dunne eventually uncovered led through a long string of holding companies, umbrella corporations, and intricate stock deals that took the young agent and Ezra over an hour to sort out. Finally, a common name began to appear.

          "Otto Blitzer?" Buck muttered. "Sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place it."

          "It means nothing to me," Ezra stated. "Mr. Tanner, does the name mean anything to you?"

          Vin shook his head.

          "I'll see what I can dig up on him," JD said. "He's a citizen of Paraguay, so I'm not sure what I'll be able to find."

          Josiah and Nathan returned a few minutes later, Sanchez announcing, "All of the men with Landry Whitesides were actually boys – fifteen to nineteen years old – and all of them street kids from the looks of their clothing and the state of their teeth and hygiene."

          "Street kids?" Ezra questioned, then nodded. "That confirms what Benton told me. He said that Landry had fallen in with an unacceptable crowd. Still, I find that difficult to believe. Landry Whitesides, the entire Whitesides family, may very well be planning to overthrow the elected government, but they would never willingly mix with common street rabble."

          "Drugs, especially an addiction, can change a person's entire personality," Nathan said.

          "I'm just telling you what the ME told us," Josiah said. "And after taking a look at their personal effects, I think he's right. Those kids look like they came right off the streets of Purgatory."

          Nathan nodded. "A couple of 'em even had old breaks that hadn't been set properly. And there were traces of a new street-drug cocktail in their systems. DEA and DPD are supposed to send over what they have on it, which isn't much. The ME said he heard that they're callin' it 'beauty' on the streets. Supposed to be made by somebody who calls himself the 'Gatekeeper.'"

          Vin's head came up at that. "Heard a couple of the kids in the buildin' talkin' 'bout that guy," he said. "Some pied piper who's cookin' up a new drug and handin' it out fer free if the kids'll let him cut 'em up a little."

          The pained, disgusted looks on the men's faces made it clear what they thought about that little nugget of information, but the situation was, unfortunately, all too familiar in Purgatory to really surprise them.

          "I still have a difficult time imaging any of the Whitesides suffering the company of a gang of street rats," Ezra said. "But if Benton was telling me the truth, then it would appear that Landry had fallen under this 'Gatekeeper's' sway."

          "Landry and the other boys all had shallow scars in various stages of healing," Josiah added. "So it sounds like this guy is for real."

          "Hey, guys, I've got something on Blitzer," JD called. "A lot of his people have been indicted for various illegal operations, even got an occasional conviction on some of his biggest stockholders, but it looks like no one has been able to tie Blitzer himself to anything."

It wasn't hard for the agents to read between the lines, and they quickly concluded that Blitzer was not only criminally inclined, but incredibly clever about avoiding any direct association with the various operations he was involved in.

          "So, what's somebody as rich as Otto Blitzer doing involved in an arms deal with the likes of Benton Whitesides?" JD asked them.

          "They share the same socio-economic status, and the same circle of friends and acquaintances, one might surmise," Standish offered.

          "Yeah, but there has to be more to it than what we're seeing," Buck replied. "This Blitzer guy is too smart to be involved in something that might endanger his empire. And Whitesides might be a crazy millennialist, but he hasn't gone off-shore before."

          "It might be that Benton sees Otto as a stepping stone to bigger deals," Ezra said. "He had been hinting that his plans were proceeding more quickly than he'd hoped, before our ill-fated meeting yesterday."

          "But where does Landry fit in?" Nathan asked rhetorically. He looked at Ezra, asking, "He hasn't been all that involved in his father's business from what you've said."

          "No, he hasn't appeared to be," Standish said. "Griffin is being groomed to take over after his father, and Marisol, being a young woman, is marginalized. Landry, from what I observed while undercover, seems willing to do his father's bidding, so long as it doesn't interfere with his pursuit of a good time. Of all of the family members, he was the one least committed to his father's twisted ideals of Arian purity and Christian militarism."

          "Which could also explain why he turned to drugs," Josiah added. "If he's not committed, then living with his father would be incredibly stressful. He could have turned to the drugs as an escape."

          "But why'd he show up at the meet?" Buck asked the undercover man. "Why attack the people helping his father?"

          "Benton suggested Landry wanted to abscond with the weapons and sell them for drug money," Ezra replied and frowned. "There are so many other ways he could have gotten drug money, though."

          "Landry might have been acting out," Josiah added. "He was telling his father that he didn't buy his ideological crap by short-circuiting one of daddy's deals."

          "So, where do we go now?" JD asked when Ezra was seated at Chris' desk, the receiver to his ear.

          "I don't know," Buck said, shaking his head.

          "The question is: What does Blitzer have to do with Whitesides' militia?" Ezra asked quietly.

          "I didn't see any connections to Whitesides in the paper-trail," JD said, "but I'll double-check." He swung back to face the computer monitor.

          "Yeah, dig a little deeper on Blitzer and Whitesides," Buck said.

          "They've got something cooking between the two of them," Ezra said.

          "Better check this Gatekeeper guy, too," Vin added quietly.

          Josiah nodded. "Nathan and I will see what we can find out about this new crowd of Landry's," he offered.

          "And about this Gatekeeper guy and his new drug," Jackson added.

"Don't it seem strange t' any of y' that they didn't kill me an' Ez?" Vin asked them. "That as soon as Chris… went overboard, they turned tail and ran?"

          Jackson's eyes narrowed with thought. "Yeah, if they were after the guns to get drug money, maybe the ones on the boat panicked once Landry went down," he suggested.

          "Maybe there weren't enough of them left on the boat to take us on," Buck said. "Their ringleader was down, we were on the way; they might have just panicked and run."

"Or maybe Whitesides did find out we were ATF," JD said. "The man could be playing us. If he did find out, he'd want Chris' head, right?"

          Nathan nodded. "Especially after we killed that deal he had going with Kroger back in March."

          "Blitzer and Whitesides have money and connections; if either one of them had wanted Chris dead for some reason, they could've hired professional hit men, just like Kroger did in March," Josiah argued. "Whitesides might have his assassination list, but he hasn't been tied to any hits that we know of. And Landry certainly hasn't…"

          "There's got to be some connection between Blitzer and Whitesides," Buck argued. "Some connection that includes Chris, because we know Landry and Chris didn't have a history."

          "And I doubt a drug dealer would come after an ATF agent," Standish added with a sigh. "We'd be no threat to him."

"Most obvious answer is Whitesides found out who we really are an' had Landry hire a bunch 'a street kids willin' t' take on a suicide mission if they got paid enough t' buy the drugs they's hooked on," Vin said, then stood abruptly and hurried away, muttering something under his breath about needing to get some air.

          JD sighed sadly. "I'll do some more digging, see what I can find, but I don't know if there's much left." He turned back to his computer.

          Buck and Josiah looked from Dunne to the doorway leading out into the hallway.

          "We better go see if we can find him," Buck said.

          Josiah nodded.

          Ezra and Nathan watched the two men go, Standish saying, "I think Benton told me what he believes is the truth. He thinks of us as kindred spirits. Although we have to consider that Landry might have learned the truth about us somehow. He might have thought he was protecting his father by coming after us."

          "Or maybe his daddy was right about him just wanting drug money," Nathan countered. "If he was a junkie, the drugs are going to be the most important thing in his life."

          "Perhaps, but in this business I've come to assume that nothing is what it appears to be."

          "Nothing except his pain," Nathan said, nodding in the direction Vin had taken.

          "Too true, Mr. Jackson, too true."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	3. Reports of My Death 3

**Monday night through Tuesday night**

 

          It had started out fairly simple. Seiler had left Larabee with the two teens after telling them to "Enlighten Christopher to the beauty of pain."

That proved to be some kind of a code for the boys to beat the agent nearly senseless. And, somewhere along the way, a third boy joined them, although, much to Larabee's surprise, he turned out to be reticent about participating in the beating, even when ordered to do so by the other two. When his blows had landed, they were light and ineffectual.

          Seiler, for his part, stood back, watching. "Yes, yes," he told the boys, "you must first shatter his concentration, disrupt his mind's ability to ignore pain, real pain that can shape his soul and draw out the beauty hiding there… under the skin. A beauty so powerful, so breathtaking it can restore life… restore the one I have been dreaming of all this time."

          And, over the course of the following hours, sessions where "real pain" was employed took place. The worst was Seiler's use of an electronic stunner, applied to every conceivable inch of the agent's body.

Larabee screamed and thrashed, vomited and lost control of his bowels and bladder, but the pain didn't kill him. It wasn't beautiful, either, as far as he was concerned. Chris fought back as best he could, using insults and obscenities to no effect. Seiler was immune to them all, lost in his own world, ranting and raving about truth and beauty and eternal life.

          Chris' existence quickly narrowed to surviving each encounter with the madman and his sidekicks. He knew the rest of his team would be looking for him, and he knew they'd find him, eventually. He just hoped they found him soon, because he wasn't at all sure he could hold out much longer.

          And then Seiler and the teens were gone and he was alone. Alone and hurting and scared, but, thankfully, still alive.

He lay where he'd fallen last, trying to catch his breath as his body began to shiver. They had cut his clothes off of him early on, at Seiler's orders, and now that the sweat was drying on his skin in the cool room, icy fingers were digging into his aching muscles and drilling into his bones, squeezing both until it forced tears from the corners of his eyes.

 _Come on, guys… Vin_ , he called silently. _Where are you?_

          He licked his lips, the taste of blood making his stomach twist. God, he was thirsty, but they hadn't left him anything to drink.

          He forced himself to his feet and inspected the cell, searching for a way out, but there was nothing. With a sigh he lowered himself to the cold floor and leaned his head back against the wall. At least it was August. It wouldn't get cold enough to kill him, but he still couldn't stop the shivers that left his teeth chattering.

          _Shock_ , he realized. Or something like it. _Great. Anytime, boys_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, August 3 rd**

**4:20 a.m.**

 

          Later, although Larabee had no idea how much time had passed since he'd been left alone, Seiler stepped back into the cell. He began pacing around the blond, steps short and clipped.

"She's angry with you, Christopher. You know that, don't you? Oh, yes, very, very angry."

          Chris tried to tune out the man, but the sing-song cadence of his voice cut through his pain and rang inside his head, impossible to ignore. He wasn't sure how, but he knew Seiler was talking about Sarah, his wife, the woman he'd loved. The woman he still loved. The very same woman Seiler had wanted to kill so many years ago.

          "She had so much to live for, Christopher, so much to offer the world."

          "How the hell would you know?" he snarled. "You would've killed her!"

          "No. Oh, no, you're wrong, Christopher," Seiler hissed, then smiled benevolently. "No…" He paced across the small room, reaching up to rub his hands over the bare grey wall, stroking the surface like it was alive and responding to his touch. "I wouldn't have killed her… not her, Christopher. No. No, I would have made her immortal! I would have freed her soul and made her an angel, a goddess!"

          "You killed women," Chris said, snapping out each word like a slap to the man's face. "You raped and tortured them and when you were done getting your sick kicks, you cut them up and you killed them!"

Panting, Larabee blinked through the strands of hair that fell across his eyes. Although the gritty concrete floor was still cool against his bare skin, sweat was beading on his forehead, blurring his vision whenever it ran down and dripped into his eyes.

          Seiler shook his head. "No, no, no," he said. "You don't understand, Christopher. You never understood. Nobody did!" He walked to the door, opened it and stepped out, yelling something. Then he stepped back inside and looked down at Larabee. "She would have understood me. Yes. Yes, oh, yes, she would have understood me. Pain is nothing more than a pathway to illumination."

          "A pathway to hell," Larabee snapped back.

          "I am a gatekeeper; I purified them. I did. I showed them the way to immortality. They live forever now… but Sarah… ah, sweet Sarah… she would have been my masterwork. I could have made her a goddess, with the power of life and death. I still can, you know."

          Larabee's vision began to blur and he blinked, but the blackness was spiraling in, taking away his vision, and consciousness followed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The cry of dry hinges snapped Larabee's attention back into focus. One of the boys had returned, this time carrying a wooden box and a jar half full of a greenish liquid. Seiler took both objects, smiling as he set box and jar down on the small table. Then he twisted the lid off the jar, and sniffed the contents.

          Larabee frowned. When had they brought that table in? And the wall, the grey wall Seiler had been stroking like it was a lover earlier was now covered with black lines, marking out some kind of incomprehensible design the agent couldn't discern.

          Opening the wooden box, Seiler extracted paints, paintbrushes and an old fashioned, single-edged razor. Two of the teens, the same two who had beaten him earlier, inched into the room, their shoulders pressed tightly together as they tried to remain unnoticed. Their glassy eyes shone with evil delight as they licked their lips in anticipation of what was to come.

          "Put him back in the chair," Seiler instructed them softly, almost dancing over to admire his work thus far. And, when he was finished, he turned and walked over to where Larabee now sat.

          "You're crazy," Chris snarled, the dryness in his throat making his voice rough.

          Seiler laughed. "Yes, I know you think I am, Christopher. They all did. But not Sarah. No, not my sweet, beautiful Sarah. She knew the truth, you know. Sarah did. Genius and madness are often confused. Sad, really. So much beauty, so much wisdom, lost to misconception… but I will bring it back. I'll bring it all back. And you, you my dear Christopher, will walk the same path she would have walked. You will walk in beauty… to prepare the path for Him. And when he comes, he will bring her back to me. You'll see. He will bring me my sweet, sweet Sarah, and I will make her a goddess."

          Chris shuddered, trying not to imagine Sarah facing this madman. He just had to hang on until the others found him. It couldn't be much longer now.

          Seiler giggled, the wild, absurd sound grating on Larabee's nerves. "Oh, Christopher, I can see it in your eyes. You think your men are coming for you. Oh, no. No, no, no. Your men think you're dead, Christopher, just as you believe sweet Sarah is dead, but you are both wrong… so wrong."

          Chris ground his teeth together, refusing to be baited.

          "They won't find you. No, never find you. They are not even looking. You belong to me now, Christopher, and I will paint the beauty of your pain. I am the gatekeeper. I will open the way for His return, with Sarah, my sweet, sweet Sarah…"

          Seiler stepped over to the small table and set the razor down for a moment. He walked back to Larabee and ran his hands over the agent's chest, then smeared the bloody sweat on his palms across a portion of the wall.

"Can you imagine the pain they're feeling right now, Christopher? Thinking that you're dead? Oh yes, they're hurting, they are." He glanced at the two boys and snapped, "Get the newspaper."

          The pair stumbled over each other on their way out to do his bidding, but they returned quickly, one of them holding out a copy of the _Denver Post_.

          "Read it to him. But just the sections I've highlighted," Seiler said, picking up his pallet of paints and a brush, returning to his work and adding more sick colors to it, color mixing with sweat and blood.

          One of the boys unfolded the paper, and started reading: "ATF Agent feared dead. Special Agent Chris Larabee is believed dead after a shootout on Granby Lake…" He stopped and giggled, his friend poking him in the ribs when Seiler shot them a dark glower. "Local authorities continue to search the lake for the missing agent's body," the boy continued. "Special Agent Vin Tanner, a member of Larabee's team, told authorities that he fired at an attacker who was attempting to kill Agent Larabee, but was struck by an assailant at the same time, causing him to shoot Larabee instead."

          Chris' eyes flashed. _Shit! If Vin really thinks he killed me…_ But Larabee's thoughts were interrupted when Seiler stepped up to him and he felt the first feather-light touch of the razor against his skin. He hissed and jerked, but swallowed the pain.

          The sound of the glass jar as it scraped along the top of the table followed, then Larabee screamed as the liquid inside was poured over the newly opened cut, burning him like someone had set the wound on fire.

          Seiler threw back his head, laughing hysterically as he continued to open shallow cuts on Larabee's body, pouring the liquid into each of them. And each time he did, Larabee cried out, even after he'd ground his teeth together.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

          It took an hour or more before Seiler was finished, but to Chris it felt like days had passed. Then the madman walked out without a backward glance at his victim or the painting that was beginning to be filled in.

          Shrugging, the two boys untied Chris and let him fall into a limp pile on the floor. The blond looked up at the painting looming over him, its shape finally becoming clear to the agent. It was a demon, a huge, hideous demon… with Robert Seiler's inhuman, mad eyes.

          The reticent third boy joined them, asking quietly, "Think we should feed him something? Maybe give him some water? It's been a couple of days now."

          The other two boys looked down at Larabee and shrugged. "Feed him if you want to," one said, then kicked Chris in the ribs, laughing at the resulting grunt of pain.

          Larabee pulled himself into a tighter ball, trying to protect himself if the boys continued to attack.

          But the boys who had watched his encounter with Seiler quickly lost interest in him. One handed the nearly empty jar to the third. "There's a pepper left in there, man. Give him that if he's hungry." And with that they left, laughing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, August 4 th**

**1 a.m.**

 

          Some time later, Chris rolled over to lie on his back, staring up at the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The light stayed on all the time and he'd already lost track of time. On the wall, the painting still loomed over him. More of it was filled in now, but he couldn't remember Seiler coming back to work on it. But then it was getting hard to remember much of anything.

He wanted to climb to his feet, walk over, and piss all over the damn monstrosity, but he doubted he could even crawl that far at the moment. He hurt all over, the pain shifting constantly in patterns that followed the lines of the shallow incisions covering his body. He knew for certain now that Seiler planned to kill him, slowly, in some weird revenge for Sarah's death. Or maybe he really believed that killing him would bring her back. A small price to pay, really, but he didn't want her to come back if she was going to end up in Seiler's clutches.

          He sighed softly and closed his eyes, which had filled with unshed tears. God, he missed her. And he hurt. God, he hurt, and he was exhausted, and hungry, and thirsty… and he knew what Vin must be going through, which hurt his heart almost as much as his aching body did.

          The door opened again, but Chris didn't bother to open his eyes and look up. No doubt Seiler was back to work on his "masterpiece" some more. Once the painting was finished, Seiler would kill him. Until then, he would make him suffer so his "pain" could be "used to bring out the beauty of the painting, create the gateway," and "pave the way for Him to return with my sweet, sweet Sarah."

It could almost be funny if it didn't hurt so damn much – his pain, being used to infuse the fucking painting of a demon with, of all things, beauty…

          But he didn't hear the sounds of paintbrushes on the cement wall, or the soft, mad mutterings of Seiler, so he forced his eyes open.

It was the third boy.

          "Roll over," the teen said.

          "You gonna make me?" Larabee snarled, in no mood to be cooperative with his captors.

          The boy just sighed and reached out, gently helping the agent to sit up so he could began applying a liquid to the cuts on the man's body. The smell registered as the pain began to fade – anesthetic.

          Chris studied his benefactor more closely. He was a Latino, although his skin was light enough to pass for Caucasian if it wasn't for his black hair and eyes. He was also a little older than Larabee had first thought; he wasn't sure exactly how old, but he guessed between nineteen and twenty-one. He had the sunken look of a long-time addict.

          "Why?" he asked the young man.

          "Story would take too long," he replied. "Seiler's crazy."

          "You don't have to convince me."

          "He's going to kill you."

          "Really? I hadn't guessed," Larabee replied a little more sarcastically than he'd intended. "What are you going to do about it?"

          "Nothing," the man said softly, sadly. "There's nothing I can do."

          "Get word to my men. Tell them where I am."

          He shook his head. "I can't."

          "Then help me get out of here."

          The young man hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "He'll kill me if I help you."

          "You're helping me now."

          The boy stood.

          "At least tell me your name."

          "Gilberto," he said and handed Chris a glass of water, which Larabee drank down in three huge gulps. "I'll try and bring you more, and something to eat if Seiler sleeps."

          "What about the other two?"

          "They're getting high, but there are others guarding the door if you're thinking about trying to escape." He started for the door.

          "How long have I been here?"

          The young man stopped, but he didn't turn around. "Almost four days."

          _Four days? Jesus, it feels more like four weeks_ , Chris thought as he watched Gilberto's fingers curl around the door knob. "Thanks," he called.

          The young man nodded and started to leave.

          "Gilberto."

          He stopped, but didn't turn to look back at Chris.

          "How old are you?"

          "Sixteen," the boy said, then slipped away.

          _Jesus_ , Chris thought. What had happened to the boy to age him like that? But he already knew the answer: Robert Seiler.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, August 5 th**

**4 a.m.**

 

He was back on the boat, during the firefight, and everything was moving in slow motion. He could see Chris and the thug, fighting; see the knife, slashing close to Chris' throat. He took careful aim at the man, but then, as if it had a mind of its own, the gun jumped in his hand to aim directly at Chris and he watched, with growing horror, unable to stop himself from pulling the trigger.

In the slow-moving world of his dream, Vin had time to realize what was happening. He had the time to watch Chris turn toward him and meet his eyes, smiling slightly at him.

Then the bullet reached Larabee, and Vin watched as Chris jerked, a blossom of blood spreading across the center of his chest.

Chris' expression changed, too, first confused, and then twisted into a painful grimace. The intense green-hazel eyes met Vin's again, this time questioning, accusing. Then the blond's knees buckled and he staggered back against the railing, crumpling, falling into the cold lake water and slipping under the surface…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vin awoke with a jerk and a gasp. He cursed softly in the darkness. It was the same, always the same, but that didn't make it any easier to take.

          He lay there, panting for breath, sweat running off his skin, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. The image of Larabee, staring at him, silently asking him why he'd killed him, refused to leave his mind.

          He'd already started to avoid sleeping, but exhaustion drove him to it. And, as soon as he did, the dreams would come, driving him awake again.

          He'd tried grabbing naps at the office the last couple of days, but the dreams found him there just as easily as they did in his apartment in Purgatory, or out at the ranch.

          And now, after several days, he was sluggish and short-tempered and avoiding the others whenever he could. And they, in turn, had backed off and given him his space, probably at Josiah's urging. It was hardest on Nathan, who, Vin could see, wanted to help him, but there was nothing the medic could do. There was nothing _any_ of them could do.

          Still, they tried. There was always something in the fridge at work to tempt him, and someone had stopped by his apartment to stock his fridge there, too, as well as out here at the ranch.

And, if he did drop off to sleep at work, it stayed quiet until the dreams drove him awake once more.

          But worse than the dreams were the pitying looks he got from other agents, or the sad, sympathetic glances from the secretaries. He didn't respond to any of them, knowing he couldn't bear to hear them speak about his loss. So he made sure he got in early and stayed late, hiding in Larabee's office to avoid as many people as possible. But it seemed that no matter when he came in or left, one of the others was already there.

          He knew they were doing all they could to track down the connections between Blitzer and Whitesides, but he'd stopped listening to the discussions. Chris' name was coming up less frequently, life moving on in subtle ways that filled Tanner with dread.

          But for him, Larabee was the only thing on his mind. He drove out to the man's ranch every day to check on the horses. He fed them, groomed them, and made sure they had water and exercise. He started the Ram's engine, letting it run a few minutes. He checked the rooms for any signs of a break-in, and when he was done, he returned to the living room and lay down on the couch. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Chris was in the kitchen, making them something for a late supper. But there were no smells of spaghetti sauce simmering, or coffee brewing.

          He drifted off to sleep lying there, only to bolt awake calling Larabee's name, which rang hollowly in the empty house.

He hated the way the house itself seemed to reflect the emptiness he felt in his soul, taunting him with the echo. On nights like that he would sit there most of the night, finally driving home in the early hours of the morning, forcing himself to go to bed, and knowing as he did that he'd be awake a short time later.

Living no longer described what he was doing. He existed, and nothing more.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Saturday, August 6 th**

**2 a.m.**

 

          The only respite Chris got came late at night. The two giggling teens, Billy and Kev, which Larabee guessed was short for Kevin, had been tasked with keeping him awake at night, but they eventually got too high while they worked, and when they did, they stumbled off to sleep, leaving him lying on the dank concrete floor. But he took advantage of those few precious hours, forcing himself to sleep whenever he could, for as long as he could.

          Seiler had given one of the two boys the stunner and they both took perverse pleasure in using it on him, giggling as he twitched and moaned. A few times Chris knew he'd been reduced to mumbling his name, rank, and serial number, his SEAL training reasserting itself even when all else had failed him. Luckily, the two boys weren't particularly imaginative, but Seiler made up for their lack, returning each day to continue work on his "masterpiece," determined to drag Larabee into the insanity in which he lived.

          He hadn't seen Gilberto in a while, and occasionally wondered if he'd gotten caught trying to bring him food or water. He hoped not. The kid was the only one he might be able to convince to help him. And he needed help, soon. He could feel the edges of his sanity beginning to fray.

          The squeal of hinges announced Seiler's return, and he had his paints. Larabee wanted to groan, but didn't dare. The madman set to work immediately, Chris' weak cries quickly filling the room.

          Billy and Kev came in and sat on the floor, watching, their eyes alight with excitement and longing to hurt him.

When Seiler finished and began dabbing his brush into Larabee's blood, mixing it with his paints and applying it to the walls, the demon almost complete now, one of the boys scooted over to the moaning agent and jabbed a needle into his arm and slammed down the plunger.

          Chris felt a rush of liquid fire streak through his veins, and then nothing as he tumbled straight into the hell he was living.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Sunday, August 7 th**

**1 a.m.**

 

          The demon looking down at him wouldn't let him sleep. It was watching him. He had to escape, but there was no way out. He was in Hell, and there was no escape from Hell. Eternal torment, that's what he had to look forward to.

          It was what he deserved.

          He'd killed her. Killed Sarah. And the demon wouldn't let him forget it.

He heard the door swing open and flinched unconsciously, hoping it wasn't the laughing man, the gatekeeper, he called himself. He thought maybe the man had another name, but he couldn't remember it any more.

          It wasn't the gatekeeper. It was a boy, alone and looking frightened. The teen knelt down next to him, asking, "Can you get up?"

          "I— I think so," he rasped out as the teen cut the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. He rolled over and got to his hands and knees, but that was as far as he could go on his own, and he had to rely on the boy to help him to his feet.

          "We've gotta get out of here," the teen said softly, intently.

          "Who are you?" Chris asked him, then sucked in a sharp breath when he felt the muscles over his bruised ribs tighten.

          "The warehouse is on fire. We've got to go – _now_."

          "Fire?" he echoed, fear rushing through his gut. Hellfire. He would be burning in hellfire for eternity, the grinning demon watching him, hurting him, reminding him over and over that he'd killed Sarah, his angel, his sweet, sweet Sarah.

          "Come on, it's gonna go up fast. I spread some gas around."

          "Huh?" was all he said, not really hearing the boy's words. Hands pushed him and he stumbled along through what looked like an old warehouse, letting the boy lead the way. Smoke seeped along the floor, turning into snakes that twined about his ankles, trying to bind him there. Around him he could hear the crackle of flames eating away at the structure, eating their way toward him. The demon was coming, fire was his weapon, fire that shot though his veins and exploded inside his head, his gut. The fire was eating his flesh off his bones, burning him, killing him. He screamed.

          "Shut up!" the teen hissed, slapping him hard across the face.

          "Can't escape Hell, kid," he told the boy, but the teen only grabbed his arm and jerked him along faster.

They turned a corner and were met by thicker smoke filling a hallway, choking him, making his eyes tear. He could see the dancing shadows at the end of the corridor and knew the demon was waiting for him there.

There was no way out of Hell.

          But the teen continued to hurry him along, pushing, shoving, dragging, then he stopped.

He fought for a breath, but his lungs were on fire and he was blind. He could hear the demon, hear the sound of his breathing, even smell the stench of it, like a sewer. He was leaning against a wall, the bricks warm from the fire and getting hotter so it could eat away at his skin.

He moaned and tried to beat off the snakes climbing up his body, but the boy stopped him, slapping him again, giving him a hard shake that snapped his head back against the wall. Stars exploded in front of his eyes, but he saw it anyway: a door. The kid had found the door to escape Hell after all. He laughed as a blast of clean air swept over Larabee, reviving him enough to realize that he was naked, and pissing down his own leg. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't escape from Hell. No one could.

But he watched as the teen checked to see if the coast was clear, and apparently it was, because a moment later he was being hustled past the same door. They stumbled out into an alley that reeked of stale beer and urine and he had to stop and vomit. Then the kid half-carried him, half-guided him into another building. A few moments later he heard the sound of sirens approaching.

Sirens? His heart jumped and beat faster. Sirens. Help.

 _Help… please, help me_ , he moaned softly to himself, but he couldn't make his body cooperate, couldn't get his feet to move.

The snakes.

The snakes must have found him. They were holding him here. The demon would come now. It would carry him back to Hell.

He struggled, lunging for a window, but before he could ask the boy to help him, he collapsed, darkness and fear sweeping him away from freedom.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	4. Reports of My Death 4

**2:45 a.m.**

 

When consciousness returned, he had to fight back a sudden surge of panic. It was dark, the air stale and too warm. He was back! He was back in Hell!

It took a while, but he finally realized he was moving.

          A trunk? Yes, he was in the trunk of a moving car.

          Memories returned, fractured and distorted. Gilberto… a fire… escape.

          Reaching up, he pushed against the trunk lid, but it was latched and he was too weak to beat on it. He gagged and coughed, some of the exhaust seeping into the too-close space. His head pounded, flashes of color exploding in front of his eyes.

He swallowed thickly several times, then retched. "No, no, no," he moaned. They'd found him. They were taking him back. He was going back to Hell. "No, no no…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**3:35 a.m.**

 

          Gilberto opened the trunk and stared down at the battered, unconscious blond inside. He wasn't sure if Larabee was alive or dead until he reached out and shook the man's shoulder, the movement causing the man to flinch away from the touch.

          "Easy," Gilberto said soothingly. "I'm sorry. Please, we have to get you out of there."

          He revived enough to climb out of the trunk, but slipped, his head and shoulder striking the rear bumper.

Gilberto tried to stop it from happening, but he wasn't strong enough. However, he did keep the man from striking the ground. The boy grunted as he pulled him up, wrestling him until he was on his feet and staggering alongside the boy as he made his way toward a small house.

A house?

Not Hell, then.

He glanced around at the run down neighborhood, but he didn't recognize it. He wasn't sure why he was there, either, or if it was actually there at all. Maybe it was just a dream. He might be dreaming, the demon watching over him like he had been for so long. Watching, waiting… waiting… to what? Kill him? To hurt him again?

To laugh.

Yes, that was it. He made the demon laugh, that terrible, terrible sound… pain and fear and laughter, they were all wrapped up in his head.

          "No," he gasped, trying to stop, but Gilberto continued to half-carry, half-drag him along to the back door of the house.

          "Shh," was all the boy said.

          The door opened a moment later, although no lights came on, and Gilberto guided him inside, speaking to someone softly in Spanish.

          _"This is the man I told you about."_

_"Yes. Bring him downstairs."_

          He was led to another door, then guided down a flight of stairs to a room in a basement. The light that was on there was dim, casting weak shadows across what looked like a doctor's office from closer to the beginning of the twentieth century rather than the end of it.

          He was forced up onto the examination table, and he sagged back with a long, low moan as the agony in his head exploded. "No— No more," he gasped. "No."

Another sudden stab inside his skull swept him back into the blackness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, August 8 th**

**7:45 a.m.**

 

          "I have… I have t' make a call," he said weakly, unable to open his eyes. But he could hear someone moving around in the room. "Please."

He forced his eyes open and hesitated, knowing that the older woman staring down at him couldn't understand a word he was saying to her, and his Spanish was limited, at best. Still, he had to try. _"Telephone. I need a telephone."_

          She shook her head, but he wasn't sure if she was telling him there wasn't one, or she simply didn't understand what he was trying to say.

          He tried to sit up, but the agony that flared in his head was more than enough to make him stop.

          She clucked sadly at him and shook her head. Taking a damp cloth, she wiped his brow and spoke softly. _"Easy. You are hurt. Rest. The doctor will be back shortly."_

          He closed his eyes, wondering again where he was, how he'd gotten there, and why the hell did he hurt all over?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:15 a.m.**

 

          Although he hated to do it, Buck knew he didn't have a choice, it had been a week now.

Walking over to the door of Larabee's office he paused, took a deep breath to steel himself, and then pushed the door open and entered. The room seemed unnaturally quiet as he set the empty box he was carrying down on one of the chairs and glanced around.

Where should he start?

          He sighed, deciding on the walls. And, walking over, he began taking down the certificates, pictures, and other items hanging there. Each one triggered a memory and after four or five, he had to stop.

          "Need a hand, brother?" Josiah asked him from the doorway.

          Buck slumped back against the desk and shook his head, but then he said, "Yeah, I guess I do."

          Josiah nodded and walked in. He stopped at one wall and began removing the pictures hanging there. "You want to talk?"

          Buck thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Wouldn't know what to say right now, Josiah."

          The older man nodded again, knowing that, when he was ready, Buck would talk. It was in his nature to share his feelings – joy or grief. Vin, on the other hand, he worried about. Tanner was still holding everything inside, and he just wasn't sure the younger man had room for any more grief in his soul.

          Buck pushed off the desk and went back to work and, slowly, beginning with stories about the individual pictures, he began to talk and, in the process, grieve.

          Before too long, JD and Nathan had joined them, and then Ezra. Boxes were filled, memories were shared, and each of the men was able to say goodbye, although none of them really wanted to. But the limbo that they had existed in was too painful to sustain any longer.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11:10 a.m.**

 

          He was late again, just like he had been all last week. But he couldn't seem to make it in any earlier. Vin stepped into the office and stopped, watching the five men in Chris' office, but he couldn't bring himself to go in and join them. He wanted to be mad about them cleaning out Chris' office, but he couldn't work up the effort. At least now, when the time came, they'd be able to hand over the man's stuff to his family, or whoever it was supposed to go to.

          They'd have to do the same at the house as well, at some point. He couldn't imagine that. He wouldn't be able to be there when that happened, he knew that. How could he, when it was his fault Chris was dead? He knew better than any of them that the man wasn't coming back, but, at the same time, he had no idea how to move forward. Not until they had a body, at the very least.

          And even then, what would he do?

          What _could_ he do?

Go back to the US Marshals? Bounty hunting? The Army? Stay at the ATF and work under another team leader? He couldn't imagine either scenario.

          "Vin?"

          He jerked under Wilmington's light touch, quickly brushing at the hot tears that were running down his cheeks. How had they gotten there? "Huh? What?" he snapped.

          The ladies' man took a step back to give him some breathing room. "We're, uh, finished in the office," he said softly. "I got a call from Chris' lawyer. He wants to see us all in his office this afternoon. You up to it?"

          The last thing he wanted to do was go, but he couldn't very well say no, so he nodded.

          "Good," Buck said. "We're, uh, gonna stop for some lunch on the way over."

          "Ain't hungry," Tanner said flatly.

          "Well, get some coffee, then, because I am hungry and I could hear JD's stomach growling in there."

          Vin nodded, but he didn't look up and meet any of the other's eyes as they came out to join them. Buck and Nathan led the way out of the bullpen, Josiah and JD next, and Vin and Ezra bringing up the rear.

The undercover agent grabbed Vin's jacket from off his chair and carried it with him, just in case Tanner needed it later. He'd noticed Vin couldn't seem to get warm any more. And he was sure he knew why. He just didn't know what they could do to help him.

Vin glanced at him, giving him a grateful look.

Ezra nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**12:20 p.m.**

 

          They stopped at one of Vin's favorite burger places, but the sniper only picked at his food, eating no more than a few bites. Ezra quietly asked the waitress to box up what was left and she did, handing it to him to take.

          They arrived at the lawyer's office, a small Victorian house that had been converted into a business, just after one o'clock and were ushered in to a comfortable office with two long sofas and several chairs. They scattered, Vin picking a chair in the corner. He folded his arms over his chest and stared out the window into a well-tended backyard.

          An older man came in, shaking hands with everyone except Vin, who didn't even seem to notice the man's arrival. He took a seat behind his desk, saying, "I'm Glen Graf, Mr. Larabee's personal lawyer. I'm very sorry that we have to meet under these circumstances, gentlemen."

          Graf opened the file folder lying on his desk and took out six letters, passing them out to the men by calling their names.

          Vin didn't look away from the window until he heard the lawyer call his. He glanced down, recognizing the writing on the envelope as Chris'. Why the hell had he left them all letters?

          When it was clear that none of the men wanted to open their envelopes there, the lawyer cleared his throat and said, "Yes, well, you can read those at your leisure. We, uh, need to discuss the arrangements that Mr. Larabee outlined in his will." He covered the basics quickly and efficiently. There were items that were to be set aside for his brother-in-law, each of the team, and some of their other friends, but the house, property, horses, and Dodge Ram were all left to Vin.

          Tanner's head came up and the blood drained from his face when he heard what he already knew. "No," he said so softly that they almost didn't hear him. "I… I can't take 'em." And with that he stood and walked out.

          The others stayed behind, listening to the rest of what Graf had to say, which was just that Chris wanted to be buried next to Sarah and Adam but, without a body, they would have to make do with just a headstone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**5:25 p.m.**

 

          "I just don't care no more, J'siah," Vin sighed softly. He was sitting in the older man's Suburban, still holding Larabee's letter, unopened. He reached up and rubbed his forehead.

          "Headache?"

          Tanner nodded.

          "Bad?"

"Naw, ain't too bad."

          Sanchez could see the sniper looked exhausted, but there was nothing he could do or say that would help the man sleep better at night. "I have some Advil," he offered. "For the headache."

          Vin shook his head, then shrugged. "Nothin' seems t' help any more."

          Josiah nodded, then leaned back and started the motor, a sad, thoughtful expression on his face. He seriously doubted that Vin would be with them much longer. He'd already seen the way the younger man had started staring at the mountains, clearly wishing he could just run away. He only hoped that if Vin did have to leave them, he found some peace out there in the wilderness, and that he came home once he did. But he had his doubts about Tanner making it back.

          "Where do you want me to take you, your apartment?"

          "No," Vin said softly. "Take me out t' the ranch."

          Josiah nodded and pulled out of his parking space, suddenly hoping Vin lived long enough to get to those mountains. "Mind if we stop for something to eat?"

          "Whatever you want," Vin said apathetically.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:15 p.m.**

 

          The ranch. Chris' ranch. Now it was _his_ ranch. He snorted derisively and shook his head. How ironic was that? He'd killed the man who had left most of his worldly possessions to him. What a joke.

          A sad, sick joke.

          He walked out to the barn and checked on the horses, tossing feed into the troughs in the attached corral. Then he walked over and sat down on some bales of hay stacked inside the building. The large doors were open, the sun slipping toward the mountains, but there was still plenty of light to read by.

He pulled the envelope, now folded into thirds, out of his pocket and held it for several long moments, staring at his name spelled out in Chris' clear, crisp handwriting. He really didn't want to do this, but he knew he couldn't sit there forever, and he'd promised himself that he wasn't leaving until he opened and read the damn thing.

It took some effort, but he was able to force his fingers to open the envelope and pull out the single page of white paper inside. Whatever Chris had to say to him, he'd done it on a single page, because the back was blank.

Taking a deep breath, Vin forced himself to open the folds and smoothed them against his thigh. Then he turned the page over and began to read.

 

          Dear Vin,

I was going to start all these letters the same way. Probably too dramatic, really: If you're reading this, I must be dead… But I feel like I have to start yours differently.

I'm sorry, Vin, I'm so damn sorry, because if I'm dead, and you're still alive, then I know you're blaming yourself. And I know there's no damn reason for it, because I know you, Tanner. You did everything you could to change whatever happened. I'm as sure of that as I am of my own name.

So I want you to listen to me. You did everything you could, so let it go and get on with life.

And if I died stupid, like in an auto accident, then there wasn't a damn thing you could have done about it, so there's no reason for you to be blaming yourself for something like that either. So stop, just stop. Please.

 

The tears that filled his eyes made it difficult to continue, but he wiped them away and forced himself to go on.

 

I guess you know by now that I'm leaving the ranch and the horses to you. You love this place as much as I do, so I know you'll take good care of it. I hope it brings you some of the happiness I've felt, living out here over the years.

To be honest, I'm not sure what to say to you, Vin. Words have never been something we've needed. The two people I've been closest to in my life, Sarah and you, are the two I haven't had to worry about words with. Hell, this is harder than I expected.

I guess what I'm trying to say is you're family, Vin. And I'm damn proud to have known and worked with you. To be honest, I'm not sure I would have made it if you hadn't come along and dragged me back into the land of the living. And you did it without even trying. Hell if I know how, but I want you to know that I appreciated it, even if I haven't told you. You've been my friend, my brother, my family – you and the others.

But you were my salvation. I know that sounds corny, but it's true. My soul was dead until I met you. But I've learned to live again, to love again, and I think I've made a difference as a result. And I have you to thank for that.

I wish whatever happened hadn't, but since it has, I just want you to keep this in mind. You're a damn special man, Vin Tanner. And there are a lot of people out there who need you, so forget the guilt and have a great life. Find yourself a good man or woman to love, then marry him, or her, and raise some kids or dogs out here, okay? Sarah and Adam and I will be watching out for you until you get here, and then we'll have a party that'll rock the place off its foundation. I love you, Vin. Remember that. So, please, don't do anything stupid. Or so help me, I'll kick your sorry ass right back, if you come looking for me.

Love you,

                   Chris

 

Vin folded the letter up and put it back into the envelope, then folded that back into thirds and slipped it into his rear jean pocket. He didn't deserve the ranch, he didn't deserve the love and friendship Chris had given him, and he sure as hell didn't deserve the label of "family."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11:45 p.m.**

 

          He slowly fought his way back to consciousness. He still wasn't sure where he was, but he was sure that wherever it was, he didn't want to be there. But he couldn't seem to stay awake longer than it took him to turn over, take a drink, or relieve himself.

This time, however, he lay, his eyes closed, and listened, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. Carefully, he cracked his eyes open and tried to see where he was. It wasn't the same room he'd been in before – there was no demon watching him, and he was laying in a real bed, both of which were definite improvements, but he still didn't know where he was.

          And he needed to find a phone. He needed to call… who? Who did he need to call?

The lack of an answering name frightened him and he tried to sit up, but a blinding flash of agony sliced through his head, forcing him to lie back down.

          He could remember a young man, a boy really… Gilberto! Yes, that was the boy's name. But he didn't need to call Gilberto.

Gilberto had helped him… somehow… but he couldn't remember how, or why.

Then a barrage of images flashed through his mind: a boat, a man with a knife who was trying to kill him, and another man, with long chestnut hair who had… shot him?

Had he been shot? That might explain the way his body hurt, the way his head hurt.

          He lay still, trying to find the gunshot wound by just thinking about his body, but the ache in his head made it impossible, unless the man had shot him in the head?

          "Jesus Christ," he hissed, reaching up to feel his scalp and finding a bandage. Surely it must have been a glancing wound or there would be a thicker bandage, right?

          He gulped in some air, trying to calm his stomach and his nerves. But it was a useless exercise as he began to realize the true extent of his confusion. He couldn't even remember his own name, nothing at all.

          Slumping back against the mattress he silently prayed that he remembered something, _anything_. But there was only silence in his mind, and under it, the echo of laughter that chilled him to the core.

          He forced himself to think about the things he did know, silently praying that the laughter would fade away.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, August 9 th**

**6:20 a.m.**

 

          He awoke, screaming, the images of a hideous demon seeping free of a painting and coming after him only slowly fading from his mind. He ran a trembling hand over his hair and realized that the bandage was gone. Carefully running his fingers through his hair again, he winced slightly when he found the wound.

          It didn't feel like a gunshot graze, though, and he wondered briefly how he knew that, but he quickly pushed that fact aside. He had to get out of this place.

          Sitting up slowly to keep the pain from erupting inside his skull, he waited a few moments, then stood and made his way over to a chair where some clothes lay, folded neatly. He dressed with deliberate care as he glanced around the room, trying to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there, but there were still only shadows in his mind, horrible, distorted shadows filled with guns and demons and laughing madmen, and the echoes of pain and hurt and loss.

          He pulled on his shoes and made his way to the stairs. The climb was almost too much for him, but he forced himself on, finally reaching the top where he sagged back against the wall to catch his breath. His muscles shook and sweat dripped off his chin, but he knew he had to keep going, he had to escape.

The early morning sun made it easy for him to find the back door and he slipped out onto the porch, then staggered across the yard and out onto a broken sidewalk, heading away from the house as quickly as he could, his head down, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:40 a.m.**

 

          He shuffled along, turning onto streets at random, trying to find something that might tell him where he was. He passed small shops and businesses, their names all in Spanish. And the people he passed were Latino for the most part, older men and women hurrying to work, or the market. They ignored him, averting their gazes and hurrying past as far away from his reach as possible.

          Nothing looked familiar, but it felt familiar, a slight tingle in his gut told him the place was potentially dangerous. And, as the morning wore on and more young men began to fill the sidewalks he understood why. He watched drug deals go down on street corners, heard the call of brown-skinned whores propositioning him in broken, accented English, and saw the predatory eyes of the street kids who watched him pass, measuring their chances of taking him on for whatever he had in his pockets, which was absolutely nothing.

It was the eyes of the street kids that frightened him most and, before long, that buzz in his gut had grown into a klaxon, telling him he needed to hide – now.

He slipped into an alley, found a large dumpster behind a restaurant. He slipped into the shadows behind it. Squatting down, his back pressed against the rough, graffiti covered wall, he sucked in some deep breaths and tried to still the panic building inside of him.

The fear, he knew, was real. As real as the scars he'd seen on his body while he'd dressed himself that morning. He'd lost weight too, although he couldn't remember exactly what he'd looked like before. Running his fingers through the scraggly beard on his face he was struck by the wrongness of it, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He stared down at the clothes he was wearing. They weren't his, of that much he was sure, but he couldn't remember what he usually wore either. These clothes were old, worn and stained, and at least two sizes too big for him. They were dirty, too, but he thought he remembered them being clean when he'd put them on… when was that?

Time seemed to slip through his thoughts like water through his fingers. Had he escaped today, or a week ago?

He shivered despite the warm night.

Night?

He looked up, the sky dark above him. But hadn't the sun been shining when he'd found the alley?

Time… What the hell was time anyway?

His legs were asleep, but he forced himself to stand anyway, tears pushing their way free to roll over his cheeks as the blood returned to the numbed limbs. When he could walk, he stumbled out of his sanctuary and made his way back onto the sidewalk, shuffling off toward some nameless promise of help and safety that seemed to be calling to him.

          An hour, or maybe another day later, he was standing near an old apartment building. Something about it felt familiar, although he couldn't remember what, or why.

          He edged closer, drawn by a mural on the windowless wall facing a parking lot. The desert scene captivated him, the colors, the eyes of the children looking back at him, but then those eyes changed into something evil, something that wanted to hurt him. He gasped softly and jerked his gaze away.

An old Jeep sitting in the parking lot sent a chill rattling through his body and he took an involuntary step toward it.

There were no lights shining in the parking lot and he inched closer to the Jeep, staying close to one car and then another, hiding in the shadows. He _was_ a shadow, gliding silently closer to the battered vehicle.

Then he stopped. Someone was sitting in the Jeep. But why was the man just sitting there? Confusion tightened his chest and made his palms begin to sweat. The pounding in his head began to escalate.

The man was young, younger than him, and familiar somehow.

          He couldn't see the stranger's face in the darkness, but he could see it in his mind. He shivered again, crouching lower into the shadows, ready to spring away if he had to. Around him he could feel the neighborhood as it readied for nighttime. Children came in off the street, the homeless drifted into the shelters or their boxes so they didn't lose their beds for the night. It was still too early for the gangs and hookers to come out, but he knew it wouldn't be much longer.

          The buzz in his gut returned, warning him he needed to find someplace to hide, and soon. But he couldn't leave, not yet.

          The traffic thinned as well, sounds drifting out to him from the open windows on the side of the building – radios, televisions, a few voices. But it was the man in the Jeep who continued to hold his attention.

He eased forward, slipping away from the cars and into a spot in the deepest shadows of the large garbage dumpster sitting along the wall. He settled in, unable to fathom why he was so damn fascinated with the man in the Jeep.

          Then he saw it, a flash of light reflecting off the surface of a gun; that man's gun. His heart beat faster. What was the man doing with a gun? Was he one of those who had hurt him?

          No, he rejected that idea immediately, even as images of the man firing at him sprang unbidden into his mind. It made no sense! He knew the man wouldn't hurt him, but the visions were clear – this was the man who had shot him. But he had no injuries, no gunshots anyway, unless it was the head wound, but that didn't feel right.

          He continued to watch, unable to tear his gaze away as the younger man sat, turning the weapon over in his hands, long, slim fingers running lightly along the cool metal.

Maybe he was on the hunt. Maybe he was going to come looking for him. And then, in a nearly blinding flash of clarity, he understood what was going on. The man was trying to decide whether or not to kill himself. But why?

          _Me_ , he knew somehow, but that made no sense either.

          Pain flared behind his eyes and he slumped back against the side of the building next to the dumpster. His head throbbed, and small explosions of light erupted in front of his eyes. He knew this man. He knew the man who had tried to shoot him.

But that didn't tell him why he was sitting there, trying to convince himself to live, or to pull the trigger and end it all. And end all _what?_

          He moaned softly, clutching at his head and squeezing, trying to force the pain back, but it kept rising. He turned slightly, heaving. He heard the sound of an engine turning over, but by the time he was able to look up again, the Jeep was gone.

          _Damn_ , he sighed silently, not knowing what to do next. There was no way he could find the man, and he couldn't stay there, the cover wasn't good enough to protect him if the others came looking for him. He had to find someplace to hole up for the night.

          Why couldn't he remember anything?

          How did he know that man? Why was he the cause of the man's obvious anguish when the stranger had tried to kill him? He needed answers, but it appeared that none would be forthcoming, at least not tonight.

          He wiped his mouth and forced himself to stand, his hands shaking so badly he couldn't even push the lank hair out of his eyes. Shuffling off, he hunched his shoulders and silently prayed that the man chose to live. It was important to him that the stranger lived, desperately important. He just didn't know why, but he was damn well going to find out.

          He had to.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	5. Reports of My Death 5

**9:30 p.m.**

 

Vin drove out to the ranch, unsure why he was going there. He didn't want to be there, but he also couldn't stand being at his apartment any longer.

          When he arrived, he parked close to the barn so he didn't have to look at the house, then climbed out and walked in to check on the horses. He knew Buck and Josiah had been out earlier in the day, taking a couple of the animals out for a short ride to exercise them.

          The horses lifted their heads as he entered, a couple of them nickering a welcome. Peso and Pony, he guessed.

          Walking over to the two horses, he took time to stroke their necks and scratch under their forelocks. He was repaid for his kindness, both geldings rubbing their heads against his shoulder and blowing softly against his neck.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly. "I'll try an' get out here more often an' take care 'a ya like 'm supposed to."

          He puttered in the barn, finding small chores to keep him busy for a couple of hours, but he couldn't ignore the pull the house had on him. With a sigh, he finally gave in, walking to the dark structure and letting himself in.

He prowled from one room to another in the dark, not at all certain why he was there, or what he wanted to do. The rooms were silent and cool, almost cold, and empty. His heart felt much the same way.

He ended up in the living room. Standing for a moment, he tried to decide what to do. Finally, he walked over and knelt down, turning on the gas fireplace even though it was really too warm for a fire. The light from the blue flames cast dancing shadows across the room and he sat down on the floor and watched them until his stomach started growling. He ignored it, knowing if he tried to eat he'd just end up making himself sick.

Standing, he had to reach out and brace himself as a wave of vertigo hit. His hand brushed something hard and cold.

Looking up, he stared at the pictures of Sarah and Adam sitting on the mantle and fought back the tears that sprang into his eyes. "'M sorry, Sarah," he whispered. "'M so sorry. I failed him… an' broke the promise I made t' ya."

He picked up the framed picture and carried it over to the sofa, sitting down and holding it in his lap. The smiling woman and child looked up at him, their expressions demanding an explanation from him.

"I know I promised y' I'd take care 'a him," he said, his voice raspier than usual. "I tried, but I— I killed him, Sarah. I killed the best friend I ever had, m' brother… the man I love. Guess he's there with y' now, ain't he. Playin' with Adam, or holdin' y' in his arms. He loved y', loved y' both more 'n words could ever say, but I reckon y' knew that. Maybe he c'n fergive me one day… 'm just so damn sorry." His throat tightened, cutting off any more words he might have said and he set the picture aside, unable to look into their faces any longer.

He pushed roughly to his feet and began to prowl the house again. He avoided the bedroom – too personal – and the kitchen – the very thought of food making his stomach turn flips.

          After a while he ended up back on the sofa, staring into the flames, after he had returned the picture to its usual place on the mantle.

Why hadn't he just pulled the trigger earlier?

          He sighed heavily, knowing the reason.

It had felt as if Chris had been standing there, watching him, and he couldn't do it, not with Larabee watching him.

Hell, Chris had probably been pissed as all hell. After all, he must want him to live, to suffer for what he'd done, right? Death would be the easy way out.

His heart aching, he finally lay down on the sofa, his eyes closing as the lack of food and sleep caught up to him. He felt sleep reaching out for him and fought it off for as long as he could, but he was too weak to fight for long and he drifted off, praying his resolve to live would hold.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11:45 p.m.**

 

Images swirled around him, fragmented, distorted, like home movies being projected onto funhouse mirrors. Here he was on the boat, shooting Chris, and there he was sitting in his Jeep, trying to decide if he could bear to live another minute.

He watched himself caressing the Glock, remembered thinking how easy it would be, how fast the torment could end. But he could feel someone watching him.

He watched the images in the rippling mirror, then looked through them to join with them. And he was sitting in the Jeep again, holding the gun in his hands.

But he could feel someone's eyes on him and looked up slightly, being careful not to raise his head. He half-expected it to be Larabee's ghost come to deny him the release he so desperately wanted, but it was just a bum, standing in the shadows near the dumpster, probably taking a leak, or waiting for him to leave so he could safely scavenge for a meal.

The notion that he ought to get out and go offer the man whatever cash he had in his pockets blossomed and died in an instant. Why should he help the man who'd interrupted his decision?

But he had, and now the decision had been made for him. He couldn't pull the trigger, not now, not here.

He continued to stare at the transient, his fingers curling around the butt of the Glock. Hell, he ought to do it just to piss the man off. Because he knew the man knew why he was just sitting there. Then one of the broken security lights flickered and came on.

The man's eyes widened, as if the unexpected lights had set off an explosion of pain inside his skull.

Vin gasped. The man had greenish eyes, so much like Chris', so much like the eyes he hadn't expected to see again.

He had to get the hell out of here – _now!_

          He slammed the Glock down on the seat as the man turned away, disappearing into the shadows. Twisting the key, he turned the engine over, shoved the Jeep into gear, and exploded out of the parking lot, the image of those damn hazel-green eyes chasing him all the way out to the ranch.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, August 10 th**

**2:30 a.m.**

 

Vin woke with a gasp, sitting up on the sofa, shaking, sweat dripping from his chin and into his eyes.

He pulled the bottom of his T-shirt up and wiped his face off, then gulped and pushed himself off the couch and stumbled down to the bathroom, just reaching the toilet in time.

Holding onto the rim, he squeezed his eyes shut and let the pain of the dry heaves punish him for taking his best friend's life. And when it was finally over, he stood and washed his face. He wouldn't be able to sleep here again, not tonight, not ever again he thought.

But he also knew he couldn't drive, not like this. He'd just end up killing some other innocent person who was out on the road.

With a low moan he turned and fled the house, stumbling out to the barn to collapse on a pile of hay. Tomorrow he'd go home. Tomorrow he'd pack what he needed and head up into the mountains for a few days to either clear his head, or blow it the fuck off, and to hell with Larabee's ghost.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**9:15 a.m.**

 

          Gilberto walked the streets of Purgatory, his gaze darting from one side of the street to the other and sweeping over the men and boys who were out. He was looking for the injured man for a second day, and trying to avoid running into Billy or Kevin.

He stopped short, nearly getting hit by an older Jeep that was pulling into the parking lot of an apartment building. Looking after the vehicle as it came to an abrupt halt, he huffed with relief when he didn't recognize the man who climbed out.

Then, spotting the large dumpster, he headed over to check behind it, hoping the man he'd helped had the good sense to find himself a hole to hide in. But there was no one there. He leaned against the wall, shaking his head and telling himself that he should just get the hell out of there before he got caught himself. He didn't owe the man anything more. He'd gotten him out of there, gotten him to a doctor. But he couldn't. The man didn't even know who he was anymore.

He sighed and pushed off the wall, heading back across the parking lot when he was grabbed from behind, Billy slamming him up against one of the parked cars.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It only took Vin a couple of minutes to shove a few things into his backpack, then stop and take one last look around the apartment. As much grief as he took over it, the tiny place was still home, and had been since he'd been found and taken off the streets by Tom Redbear, a Comanche bounty hunter who had saved the teenaged Tanner's life with his friendship.

          The apartment had been Tom's originally, but it had become his after Tom had died and old Mrs. Fernandez had kept it empty, waiting for him to get out of the Army.

Two fucking weeks. If he'd just gotten out two weeks earlier, he would have been there when the cancer had taken Redbear.

          He could remember how the news that his friend and mentor was dead had hit him like a fist in the guts. He hadn't wanted to stay in the apartment, but the people in the building had come to depend on Tom, and with him gone there was no one but Vin left to help them. So he'd stayed, and continued to stay even after he'd finished his college degree and landed himself a job with the U.S. Marshals, and then with the ATF.

          He started for the door.

          The people here liked him. They depended on him. What would _they_ do if he didn't come back?

          Jesus. He had no intention of coming back.

          He stopped, hand outstretched, reaching for the knob. Christ. He had people here who needed him. And at work.

Buck and Josiah and Ezra and Nathan and JD. Hell, he hadn't been thinking about them at all.

          How could he just walk out on them? They'd taken him in, made him their friend, their brother. They'd saved his life more times than he could count, and he'd returned the favor just as many times.

          And they were hurting too, especially Buck.

          But he'd been too caught up in his own pain to deal with it. And now, here he was, thinking about heaping more grief on their shoulders. Goddamn but he was a selfish son-of-a-bitch.

          He sighed and closed his eyes, his head tilting back. They didn't blame him. They didn't hold him responsible, but he did. _He_ blamed himself, and he knew he _was_ responsible for Chris' death. How could he learn to live with that?

          And how could he do what he'd been thinking to men he called family?

          He felt the tears well up in his eyes. Goddamn it. Why couldn't it be easy? Why couldn't _anything_ in his fucked up life _ever_ be easy?

          "Shit," he choked out. "Fuck."

          He forced his eyes open and swallowed past the lump in his throat, hoping it wouldn't trigger another round of dry heaves. When it didn't, he took the last step to the door and grabbed the knob. He wouldn't be going to the mountains today, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn't do that to the others. Not to his brothers, not to his friends, and not to the people here who trusted him to be there to help them.

This was his real punishment, to live with what he'd done, and the sooner he faced that the better off they'd all be.

          And, all in all, he had to admit that he was getting off easy. Larabee, after all, was dead.

          He reached down and felt the Glock in its holster. He opened his jean jacket and pulled it free, taking it and his spare to the safe in his closet. He opened it and put both inside, shutting the door before he could change his mind and spinning the tumbler.

Then, with a long sigh, he stalked out of the apartment and stepped out into the hall, heading for the stairs. It was time he started pulling his weight again. He'd go to work, see where the others were on Whitesides and Blitzer, and he'd do what he was being paid to do – watch their backs.

The trip to the parking lot passed unnoticed until he heard the low, predatory growl coming from a teen holding another boy up against the side of Mr. Aznar's car.

Vin stopped just inside the door leading into the parking lot, waiting to see what was going to happen and listening to the boys.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"He's pissed, 'Berto, really pissed. Gatekeeper's in his room, paintin' the walls, talkin' about how you and Larabee are gonna die. He already killed Kev, man, used his blood for his paintings."

Gilberto shivered. "I got scared… the fire. I ran. You and Kev should've run, too."

"Gatekeeper's the only one who's got the Beauty, man," Billy hissed. "But he ain't made no more since Larabee got killed in that fire. He had plans for the man, 'Berto. He wanted to save that woman he keeps talkin' about."

"Hey, I had nothin' to do with that fire, man. I just got scared and ran, okay?"

Billy laughed, pressing down and in on the Hispanic boy, grinding Gilberto's ribs against the side of the car. "Fire probably got him faster than what Seiler had planned for that fed, but Gatekeeper's an artist, an angel, 'Berto. He uses pain to turn his victims' bodies into art. Art, 'Berto, beautiful fuckin' art. Like the Beauty. That's like art, man, art for your mind, dawg. I helped him, you know, with Kev. It was a trip. A rush. I could feel him dyin'…"

"You're high, Billy, that's all. That shit's gonna kill you."

"Oh, yeah, I'm high all right. He was so close, 'Berto, so close to breaking that Larabee bastard. Fuck got lucky when the fire got him."

"Seiler's sick, Billy. He's sick in the head. Nobody paints demons to life."

"Gatekeeper does. He will, now that I found you. He's gonna use your blood to bring Him over, you'll see."

"Nobody deserves to be treated like that!" Gilberto yelled.

"You do, _bitch_. You ran out on us. Gatekeeper isn't happy about that, but he's gonna give you another chance."

"I don't want another chance. Just leave me alone, man."

"Can't do it, 'Berto. He's an angel, a fallen angel, and he's gonna paint me into paradise, make me some more Beauty so I can get out of this fuckin' place. And he's gonna paint the Prince of Darkness into the world, so he can destroy it, but he needs you, 'Berto. He needs _you_."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"No!" the one called "'Berto" squealed, and the blatant terror in his voice finally shook Vin free of the paralysis that had been holding him in place. He bolted out into the parking lot.

Billy looked up, catching sight of Tanner, his red-rimmed eyes going wide with fear. He shoved the boy he was holding hard against the side of the car and raced away.

Vin went after him, but he was no match for the drugged-out youth and he quickly lost him in the maze of alleys and old deserted buildings that littered Purgatory.

A warning explosion of white and yellow lights danced in front of his eyes and Tanner stumbled to a stop. My God, my God… Chris was alive. He had been alive.

How long? How long had he been alive? How long had he been held prisoner by some madman who had tortured him?

Until there was a fire? That Chris had set?

Probably. Trying to escape.

And he'd burned to death instead?

Chris really _was_ dead now?

Oh fuck! They hadn't looked for him! They'd just assumed that he was dead, all those days.

Oh God. Oh, sweet Jesus, no. No, it couldn't be!

All those days; all that pain… Chris would have been waiting for them to come for him, rescue him, and they hadn't even looked!

God, God, even as he'd faced the flames he'd probably thought they'd show up and pull him out.

Vin's body began to shake and he dropped to his knees, heaving into the street. And even before he could finish throwing up, wracking sobs tore though his body and he fell to the ground in the alley, wishing that he had his gun with him. But it was back in his apartment. He wanted nothing more than to turn it on himself and erase the pictures flooding through his mind.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**4:30 a.m.**

 

          He dreamed about the man in the Jeep again, his haggard expression one he could sympathize with. Here, in his dream world, he had the chance to really look at the man.

He stepped closer to the Jeep, noting the lines on his face, the dark circles under his eyes that testified to a lack of sleep, and the sunken look that said he wasn't eating much either. But what held his attention the longest was the terrible pain he saw in the man's blue eyes.

All in all, the man looked worse than terrible. He looked gaunt and strangely aged, like a movie extra for a bad POW flick.

He sat so silently, too, so still, it was almost as if his soul had slipped the bonds of his body and it didn't know it should fall over and die.

Then there was the gun, the one the man was contemplating using on himself, and somehow it felt like he ought to understand why that was. But that was impossible. He didn't know the man in the Jeep. Hell, he didn't even know who _he_ was anymore.

Frustration and fear forced him awake and he lay inside his cardboard box, trying to breathe normally. But the dream images and the memories refused to fade.

He tried desperately to ignore the feelings that shook his breathing and cramped his stomach, too, but they refused to release him as well.

He rolled onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut. Whoever he was, he wasn't _his_ problem. And God knew he had enough of his own problems right now, not the least of which was finding out who the hell he was.

Christ, he thought. Maybe the man in the Jeep knew. Maybe he really was the one who had shot him. If so, surely he knew who he was shooting at. And if the memories were wrong, maybe he still knew who he was. Maybe he'd been looking for him.

In either case, the man in the Jeep might have the answers he needed, and he decided that as soon as it was light, he would find that man again, and he would get his answers, one way or another.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**10:30 a.m.**

 

          Buck, Josiah, and Ezra were waiting for him at the ranch when Vin arrived that morning.

          After he'd dragged himself out of the alley, he'd climbed into the Jeep, intending to go to the office, but he couldn't, not looking and smelling like he did. So he turned onto I25 and headed north, then west, ending up at the ranch.

          But now Tanner sat in his Jeep, unable to bring himself to climb out and go inside to face the men, because he knew if he did, he'd have to tell them the truth, and then all hell would break loose.

They'd want Nathan to look him over, or they'd want to take him to a hospital. There would be whispered words to the doctors there, and a referral to a psychologist or psychiatrist – someone who would want him to talk about his feelings. And that would mean telling someone what he'd done to his best friend, his lover.

He saw the front door open and turned the engine over, putting the Jeep in gear and pulling out of the driveway before Buck could reach him. He couldn't do that, not yet.

          The ladies' man heard the sharpshooter's slightly strangled cry over the sound of the engine noise, and then Tanner was gone.

"Damn it," the ladies' man hissed, but there was nothing he could do. If he tried to follow Vin, the sniper might end up bolting and get himself killed. He turned, heading back into the house. They'd just have to wait it out until Tanner was ready to talk.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vin spent the next several hours driving, ending up exactly where he didn't want to be: in the mountains. He was running, and he'd promised himself he wasn't going to do that. Besides, he didn't have the damn gun with him anyway.

He turned around and started back toward the city, knowing that someone would be waiting for him at the ranch when he got back.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**9:30 p.m.**

 

He was almost home. No, almost to the turnoff for the ranch, he corrected himself. He couldn't think of the ranch as home.

Vin pulled over at a scenic overlook that offered a view of the city below. He tried to imagine telling the others the real truth, but couldn't.

What would it do to them?

          He worried in particular about JD. The young man still had a certain air of innocence that they all treasured. If he told them the truth, that innocence might be lost forever, and he doubted any of them would ever forgive him for that.

          A long, sad sigh escaped Vin's lips. He was so damn tired of hurting, of blaming himself. He had honestly believed that he'd killed Chris and, as a result, the others had believed it as well. Believed it and forgiven him. It had been an accident, they said. But the truth proved that it wasn't an accident. His self-indulgent pity had cost his best friend his life. Because of him, they'd started looking for the men they held responsible for Larabee's death, not for Chris himself. But they should have kept looking for Larabee. They should have known that the lack of a body meant Chris was still out there, somewhere, and alive.

          Even if he had thought he'd killed Chris, he should have kept looking until they had found a body.

But that had been too damn painful. He just couldn't bear the thought of them finding the man's bloated body, so he'd slipped into his own world, wallowed in his own pain and, as a result, let Chris be tortured and killed.

          All that time he'd wasted, feeling sorry for himself, blaming himself, and his best friend had been alive, suffering.

And then the same thought that had been haunting him all day returned again. Vin had absolutely no doubt that Chris would have assumed that they'd come to get him, right up until the moment he'd died. And what had he thought then?

Had he felt betrayed, abandoned? Had he forgiven them in those last moments, or had he damned them all?

          But somehow he knew Larabee would have forgiven them. He could feel that in his bones. Because Chris would have assumed that they were doing everything they could to find him, to help him. He would have believed that they'd done their best, even if they'd failed, so he would have forgiven them.

But they hadn't done a goddamn thing. _He_ hadn't done a goddamn thing.

          And, like it or not, he had to tell the others that. He owed it to them. He had to make them understand that this really was _his_ fault, and his alone.

Once he did, the friendship he shared with them would end. They would hate him, just like he hated himself. His friends, his family, would be gone, just like the love of his life was gone.

When that happened, then, and only then, he could head up into the mountains and put an end to the pain that made his chest feel like someone had shoved their hand into it and was trying to squeeze all the blood out of his heart, one drop at a time.

Then he could finally find some peace… and go face Larabee on the other side.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11 p.m.**

 

          Buck woke to the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the driveway. He sat up and stretched, trying to ease the kinks in his back. The fire in the fireplace was set on low, the tiny flames casting shadows but little heat into the room. It was really too warm for a fire, but it had made him feel better to sit there, staring into the dancing flames and remembering better times. Beside, this way he didn't have to turn the lights on, and right now that was a good thing, because he wasn't sure he was ready to face the stark, empty reality sixty watts would reveal.

          Glancing around, he wished he hadn't told Josiah and Ezra that he'd be fine, waiting for Tanner to return alone. He could use some moral support right now as he faced the hurting sniper.

          He snorted softly and shook his head. What hubris had possessed him, making him think he might have the words that could help heal the young man's pain?

          _Damn_ , he thought. Why the hell had Larabee let himself get killed? The man had to know what this would do to Vin.

          _Vin…_ He shook his head. He'd caught sight of the sniper's grayish face as the Jeep's tires had spun in the driveway gravel, and wondered what new horror was haunting the younger man. All in all, he was surprised Tanner hadn't imploded yet, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was about to happen.

          So he sat there on the sofa, waiting for Vin to unlock the front door and enter. It took the man several minutes, but Wilmington finally heard the rasp of a key in the lock. A moment later, the door opened and closed and he heard the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place.

          He waited for Vin to gather his courage, then felt more than actually heard the man approaching. A moment later, Tanner stepped into the living room and asked, "What're y' doin' here, Bucklin?"

          "Waitin' for you, Junior."

          Vin grunted and headed straight to the small bar in the living room. Stepping behind it, he leaned over and opened the sliding cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey, setting it on the bar-top and reaching for a glass, which landed with a hollow _thunk_ next to the bottle.

          Without looking at the older man, Tanner unthreaded the cap and poured three-fingers of the amber liquid into the glass. Then he set the cap on the bar-top and scooped up the glass, swallowing the contents in one large gulp.

          Reaching for the open bottle, he poured himself another round, then held the bottle out in Buck's direction.

          "No, thanks anyway," the ladies' man replied.

          Tanner shrugged, returning the bottle to the bar-top. His fingers closed around the glass, his hand trembling slightly. The fire from the first drink was still burning his throat and belly, but he wasn't sure it was entirely responsible for the tears that welled up in his eyes.

He lifted the drink and gulped it down like the first, but this time he coughed as the burn intensified. When he reached for the bottle a third time, Buck stopped him.

          "Ya forget, Junior, I saw Chris in the same shape you're in now – hurtin', pissed as all-hell, bound and determined to race Satan straight into Hell. He never made it, though, and neither will you."

          "Y' don't think so, huh?"

          Buck looked up, meeting and holding Tanner's eyes. "Nope, I don't."

          "Y' can't stop me," Vin hissed, his accent growing thicker under the influence of the alcohol.

          "Like hell I can't, kid. And I won't be alone. There'll be four other men standin' right behind me, just in case you knock me down."

          "Don't see 'em here now," Tanner sneered.

          Wilmington shook his head. "Nope, you don't, but not because they didn't want to be here. They did. I just didn't think I'd need 'em, but it looks like I was wrong about that."

          "You weren't wrong," a deep voice said, causing Buck and Vin both to jump.

          "Jesus, Josiah, don't you know better than to sneak up on a man like that?" the ladies' man yelped.

          The big man smiled thinly as he walked into the room, followed by Ezra. "Sorry, boys, we didn't mean to startle you."

          "With the lights off, we thought it prudent to come in through the back," Ezra added quietly, his gaze on the sniper. "We thought perhaps you both were sleeping."

          Tanner snorted and grabbed the whiskey, chugging down several swallows straight from the bottle before he set it back down on the bar-top and wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. "Hell, ain't slept in too long t' remember," he mumbled.

          "We know, brother," Josiah said softly, his voice full of concern and compassion. "We've seen—"

          "An' y' know why, too, J'siah?" Vin snapped at the older man, blue eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "Y' hear that from God?"

          "Nope," the profiler said, his hands coming up in a pacifying gesture. "It's just that the pain you're wearing is too hard to miss."

          "Pain?" Vin snarled. "Whatdaya know 'bout pain, Preacher?"

Tanner slipped out from around the bar, Ezra and Buck both taking cautious steps back so Tanner wouldn't feel hemmed in. Vin hated feeling trapped, and right now they knew he was too volatile to take any chances with. The man was deadly.

Josiah, however, had seen something else in the younger man's pale blue eyes and he stayed put, even when Tanner stepped up right in front of him. Sanchez could feel the emotions coming off the sniper like they were physical winds, and they buffeted his resolve, but he stood firm, calmly meeting Vin's eyes.

And, a moment later, Tanner crumbled.

Josiah caught him before he hit the floor and half-guided, half-carried him to the sofa and lowered him down. He sat down next to the trembling man, and wrapped one arm around Tanner's shoulders, pulling him in close to his chest and holding him as if he were a child. Vin's shoulder jerked once, then again a moment later as the rest of the pent up pain and anger finally broke past the walls Vin had built to contain them.

"Oh God, J'siah," he gasped, "it hurts… it hurts so much it feels like 'm dyin'."

"I know, son, I know," the older man said, holding Vin as the sobs began to rack his body. And the tone of his voice told the others that he did indeed know.

Ezra rounded the bar and poured drinks for himself and the others. Buck knocked his back, but Josiah's remained untouched, although within reach on the coffee table.

Buck glanced at Sanchez, silently asking with a glance at the door if he and Ezra should leave.

Josiah gave a slight shake of his head and the pair settled in to wait, uncertain what the night might bring.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 


	6. Reports of My Death 6

**3 p.m.**

 

          He wandered, unsure for how long, or where he went, or should go, but he knew he needed to go… someplace. He knew he needed to find the man in the Jeep, but he had no idea how, and right now he wasn't even sure he'd be able to find the same building where he'd seen him the first time.

          He cursed his scrambled mind and kept walking.

          "Tammy! Where you _been_ , girl?" someone called.

          He stopped. Tammy… Tammy… Tanner. Been? No, Vin.

          Vin Tanner. That was the man in the Jeep, the man he needed to find.

And then it all came back to him in a rush, and he knew where he needed to go, he just wasn't sure how to get there. A moment later, it was gone again, and he was more confused than ever, but at least he had a destination in his head and he clung to that, determined to find it, and the man in the Jeep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, August 11 th**

**1:30 a.m.**

 

          Vin awoke about a couple of hours later in Larabee's bed. He got up and padded to the kitchen to grab himself a beer, then went back down to the living room where the others were probably still gathered, no doubt talking about him, and what they were going to do with him.

"You feeling all right?" Buck asked him when he entered.

"Yeah. Fine." Vin took a seat, staring past the sliding glass doors to the mountains beyond, even though they were invisible in the dark. Still, just knowing that they were there gave him some peace. He knew he was putting off the inevitable, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell them what he'd heard.

          Ezra, who was sitting closest to him, leaned forward and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm famished. I think I'll—"

"Ain't hungry," Vin interrupted him. "Why don't y'all just head on home."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Josiah said softly.

"Didn't ask fer your opinion, J'siah," Vin growled. "Asked y'all t' leave."

That sent the room into a deep silence.

Buck stood and left the room, returning a few moments later with beers for all of them. He handed them out and sat back down. "Sorry, Junior, but we aren't leaving."

Tanner sighed heavily and stared into the amber-colored liquid as if he thought some of the answers he wanted might rise to the surface along with the bubbles.

"I called Nathan and JD, asked them to come over so we could all have a talk."

"Buck—" Tanner started, but the faint sound of a vehicle coming up the drive reached them and Vin stood, setting the beer down on the small end table and heading for the sliding glass door that led out onto the back porch. "I'll talk when I'm good and ready to," he snapped, and headed out.

Standish stood, afraid they were going to lose two friends before this was finally over. "Vin," he called, not wanting the man to fade into the darkness alone. And when Tanner turned, the southerner was struck by just how haggard and worn the sniper looked. The sharp pain of the proceeding ten days had somehow settled into a permanent melancholy.

"Don't feel like talkin' right now," Tanner said softly, his voice barely reaching Standish. And then Vin turned and stepped out into the darkness.

          Ezra heard the front door open, and Buck's voice, raised in what sounded like worry. He turned just in time to see the big ladies' man and Nathan helping someone into the living room, half-carrying, half-dragging the man. Josiah turned on the lights and the blood rushed from Standish's face, leaving his vision swimming and his ears ringing. "Sweet mother of God," he gasped, his knees going weak.

          "Call 911," Nathan said, helping Buck get the sagging man over to the closest sofa.

          "But how—?"

          "Call!" Buck snapped.

          Ezra hurried to the phone on the bar and grabbed it up, punching out the numbers while he also caught Josiah's eyes and nodded to the sliding glass doors. The big man nodded his understanding and headed off to find Vin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Vin?" Sanchez called as he stepped out onto the porch. He didn't want to end up on the receiving end of a wild punch if he startled the sniper.

          "Go 'way, J'siah," came the quiet reply.

          The older man couldn't see Tanner in the darkness, but at least he knew he was close by. "Vin, I need you to come inside."

          "Told y', 'm not in the mood, Preacher."

          "Vin, please, it's important. You're going to want to see this." He heard Tanner sigh, but then there was a brief movement and Vin was standing next to him. "Jesus," he breathed. If the sniper had wanted to kill him, he never would have seen it coming.

          "Better be important," Vin growled at him.

          "As important as it gets, brother."

          Tanner paused when the first low wails of a siren could be heard in the distance and Josiah could see the flash of confusion and worry on the man's face.

          "Come inside, Vin. There's something you need to see."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "How?" Ezra asked.

          "Hell if I know," Buck said, watching Nathan pull open Chris' shirt and check him over for injuries.

"We found him walking down the middle of the driveway," JD said, his face pale, his body shaking.

"Guess he was headed home, just didn't make it," Nathan added.

          "Where's Vin?" JD asked, glancing around a little nervously.

          "God only knows," Ezra replied.

          "'M right here," Tanner grumbled. "What the hell d'ya want?" He had reached the middle of the living room before he saw the man lying on the sofa.

All forward movement came to an abrupt halt. The build of the man lying there was familiar… the color of his hair… the angle of his jaw, even covered in the ragged, untrimmed beard.

He began to shake, his subconscious recognizing the truth before his conscious mind could even begin to question the reality of his perceptions, or accept them. Then the man's eyes cracked open, widening immediately when he caught sight of Tanner.

          The familiar green-shaded brown that Vin had seen sparkle with laughter and spark with an intensity that had earned respect for the Larabee Glare from suspects and fellow agents alike. _Ch-Chris?_ He wanted to say the man's name aloud, but it stalled in his throat, which tightened so much he could barely draw a breath.

A roar began in his ears and his vision was suddenly constricted by a band of black that rapidly left him blind as his knees gave out and he began to crumble.

          Josiah saw the reaction coming and lunged forward in time to catch Vin before he hit the floor, one arm snaking around the sniper's shoulders, the other under his knees. "Vin," he called as he scooped him up. "Vin, come on, wake up."

          The wail of the siren grew loud enough to drown out Sanchez's words and moments later there was a knock at the front door.

          JD tore himself away from the spectacle and hurried to answer, escorting the two medics to the living room where they now had two patients to attend to instead of just one.

          One medic went to Larabee, the other to Vin, calling for a second unit at the same time.

"He just passed out," Josiah said. "The shock of seeing—"

"He hit his head?"

"No, I caught him before he hit the floor."

The medic nodded and reached out to grip Tanner's shoulder. "Sir," he said, "I'm a medic with the Jefferson County Fire Department, can you hear me? You awake, sir?"

          Vin moaned softly and rolled his head away.

          "He's been under a lot of stress lately, hasn't been eating or sleeping much for the past ten days," Josiah added. "I guess seeing the man he thought was dead was too much."

          "How long has he been out?"

          "A minute, if that," Josiah replied. "It just happened as you were pulling up outside."

          The medic checked Vin's vitals, including a finger stick to check his blood glucose, which was extremely low. He opened his kit and started an IV with D50.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Across the room, the second medic identified herself, then tried to wake Chris, who mumbled and tried to pull away, but otherwise remained unresponsive.

          "I'm a medic," Nathan told her. "We just found him out in the driveway a few minutes ago. He was just like this."

          "Was he on his feet?"

          "God knows how, but yeah, he was. Didn't seem to realize we were there, though."

          She nodded. "Okay, can you hold his neck while I check him over?"

          Jackson shifted position, making sure Larabee's cervical spine was stabilized while the medic checked the blond's airway, breathing, and circulation. Next was a quick head to toe survey to look for any life-threatening problems.

          "He's got a good-sized gash here on his head," she said to Nathan, "but it's been stitched and treated, the infection is slight. Looks like he's really been worked over, though – burn marks, shallow cuts all over, and abrasions at the wrists and ankles. They all look like they're several days old now."

          "He's been missing for ten days," Jackson offered.

          She continued to work and, with Nathan's help, positioned Larabee on a long backboard with head-blocks.

          The wail of an approaching ambulance reached them and she looked up into the faces of four very worried men. "We'll get him to the hospital and they'll take good care of him."

          A few moments later the ambulance crew arrived and they placed Chris on a cot and took him out and loaded him into the back of the ambulance, where the medic's work continued. Nathan went with Chris, watching as the medics gathered vitals, started an IV, and placed the man on oxygen and hooked him up to a heart monitor.

          The ambulance medic did a finger stick to check Larabee's blood glucose level and, finding it low, hung some D50.

          With Larabee still unresponsive, they gave him Narcan and, after checking with the police who had arrived right behind the ambulance, they started for the hospital.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Come on now, you hurt, sir?" the medic asked Tanner.

          Another groan, a flinch, and Vin scowled and blinked his eyes open, staring up at the stranger. "Let me be," he said, trying to sit up to get away from the man.

          "Easy now, I'm a medic with Jefferson County Fire Department. Looks like you passed out. When was the last time you ate?"

          Vin's brow furrowed. "I— I don't know, a day, maybe two."

          "Can you tell me your name?"

          "Tanner. Vin Tanner."

          "Do you know what day it is?" the medic asked next.

          "Uh, Thursday, I think."

          "And do you know where you are?"

          Tanner nodded, saying, "Yeah, Chris' ranch. And Clinton's in the White House if that's yer next question."

          The medic smiled. "It was going to be. How are you feeling?"

          "All right," Vin said.

          "Any nausea or dizziness?"

          "No, not really."

          "Your blood sugar's in the basement," the medic said. "I think we should take you to the hospital, have them look you over."

          Tanner shook his head.

          "Listen to the man, Vin," Josiah told him, but the sniper's attention shifted across the room where Nathan and another medic were working over Chris.

          "He all right?" Tanner asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

          "Sorry, I don't know," the medic said, but catching the pain in his patient's eyes he called, "How's he doing, Janie?"

          "Unresponsive, but stable. Vitals are strong. You?"

          "Responsive. Strong vitals, but low blood sugar," he replied, then looked back at Vin. "He's doing fine, so let's just worry about you right now, okay?"

          But Tanner didn't look away until more medics arrived, one pushing a wheeled cot that completely blocked his view. "Huh?"

          "He's doing okay," the medic repeated. "Now, let's get you to the hospital so the doctors can take a look at you, okay?"

          Vin wanted to refuse, but he was so damn tired he wasn't sure he'd make it to his feet without help. And the look Josiah was giving him made it clear the older man would consider him a fool if he tried, so he nodded to the medic, who flashed him a sympathetic smile and called for the other new arrival to bring over the second cot.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**3 p.m.**

 

          Josiah pushed the door open and stepped into Vin's hospital room. The sniper was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed and waiting. "Okay," he said, "I have your paperwork, so you're all set."

          Tanner nodded and slid off the bed, walking over to join the older man. "How's Ch–Chris?"

          "He's still out, but the doctor says he's doing good otherwise. You can go see him just as soon as you get something to eat."

          Vin groaned. "Hell, J'siah, all I been doin' all day is feedin' m' face."

          "I know, but you're making up for lost time – and meals. Now, come on, the cafeteria is on the second floor; food's not bad, either."

          The sniper sighed, but he nodded and followed Sanchez to the elevators, the pair riding down in the silence to the second floor. Several minutes later he was seated across from the big man, eating a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, French fries coated in ketchup, and a fruit cup, washing it all down with a large carton of chocolate milk.

Josiah grinned and took a sip of his coffee, the only thing he'd ordered. "Thought you weren't hungry?" he ventured. Blue eyes glanced up to meet his for a moment, then Vin looked back down at his plate.

"Guess I was hungrier than I thought," he said a little sheepishly.

"I'm just glad to see your appetite's coming back."

"Where is everybody?"

"Buck's sitting with Chris and the others are sacked out in the waiting room."

          Tanner paused in mid-bite, then set what was left of his sandwich down. "Y'all gonna let me see him?"

          "Of course we are," Josiah told him. "Vin, he's your friend. He needs to see you as much as you need to see him."

          "But I—"

          "I don't want to hear that you think this is your fault."

          "But it is," Vin argued. "If we'd just kept lookin'—"

          "We all thought he was gone, Vin, each and every one of us. And do you honestly think any of us really wanted to find his body after a week in that lake?"

          Tanner shuddered and pushed his plate away. "No."

          "There was no reason for us to think that street kids would want to kidnap Chris. We still don't understand why they did it."

          "Those two kids," Vin said, memories from yesterday morning returning, "sounded like this gatekeeper guy wanted Chris."

          Josiah frowned. "What two kids?"

          Ignoring the question, Tanner stood and picked up his plate, walking over and dumping the remainder of his food before adding the plate to a stack waiting to be picked up and washed. He returned to Josiah, saying, "Come on, rather just say this once."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Josiah sent Vin to the waiting room on the fifth floor while he went to get Buck. Chris was still sleeping, so the ladies' man agreed to leave him for a short while. They joined the others, who Vin had already roused from their naps, and once everyone who wanted or needed it had grabbed some coffee from the pot a volunteer kept full, they settled to hear what Vin had to say.

          "I was gonna tell you this last night, uh, this morning," he said, looking from Buck to Josiah to Ezra. "Yesterday mornin'… I was comin' out of my apartment and I saw these two kids, street kids, in the parkin' lot. They were talkin' about Chris. One of 'em said he'd been killed in a fire… sounded like after he'd been worked over pretty bad by this gatekeeper guy who's makin' the Beauty."

          "Why the hell would some damn drug pusher be after Chris?" Buck asked, utterly confused.

          "Ain't sure," Vin admitted. "The other kid called him Seller, Sealer, something like that."

          "Seiler?" Buck demanded.

          "Seiler, yeah," Vin said. "Who is he?"

The blood drained from the ladies' man's face. "Robert Seiler."

          "Who is that?" JD asked Buck.

          "Jesus," Wilmington said, leaning back against the sofa and running shaky hands over his hair. "The man's supposed to be locked up in the state mental institution – for life."

          "Who is this man?" Ezra asked, wishing Buck would just tell them.

          Wilmington took a deep breath and gave them a brief history lesson on "The Artist," concluding with, "He really had a thing for Sarah, said all the women he killed were just paving the way so he could turn her into an angel. His statements in court were what got him that life sentence."

          "If he was that obsessed with Sarah, he might have blamed Chris for her death and shifted his focus to him," Josiah said.

          "And if Landry Whitesides was addicted to the drug, this Beauty stuff, then he might have been willing to go up against us to grab Chris," JD added.

          "But that assumes that either Landry or Seiler knew that Mr. Larabee was also Carl Lawson," Ezra ventured.

          "Not Landry, he would have told his father if he'd known," Josiah said. "Even if he was rebelling against his father and his ideology, Landry would still have wanted the man's approval. He could have gotten it if he'd told his father his business partner was an ATF agent. It was Seiler."

          Buck nodded. "Makes sense. The man was scary; he used to work his way into his victim's life before he abducted them. If Seiler was released, it wouldn't have been hard for him to find out that Sarah Connelly had become Sarah Larabee."

          "As well as what happened to her," JD said. "It's all right there in the papers, and they're available online, or at the public library."

          "A couple of our busts have gotten Chris' name in the paper, too," Nathan added. "The right search, and he'd know how Sarah died and that Chris was an ATF agent now."

          "He was probably following Chris, stalking him like he did the women he killed before," Buck said. "If he saw one of the meets between Chris and Whitesides, and he knew who Landry's father was—"

          "Then he'd know he had the perfect in," Vin finished for him.

          "Hey, that means this Seiler guy's still out there," JD said, looking worried.

          Buck nodded and stood. "I'm gonna go call Travis and DPD."

          "And I think it's time I had another talk with Benton," Ezra said, also standing. "Maybe he can point me to some of Landry's new friends. They might know how to contact this 'gatekeeper.'"

          "I'll grab Buck and we'll go with you for backup," Nathan said, pushing to his feet. "No telling what Whitesides might have found out by now."

          "And I'll go back to the office, see what I can find on Robert Seiler," JD offered. "Like how he got out with a life sentence."

          "Vin and I will stay here, keep an eye on Chris," Josiah said. "If Seiler's as obsessed as Buck says, he might try to take him again."

          "I'll make sure Buck asks Travis to send some DPD uniforms over," JD promised.

          And then they were gone, leaving Josiah and Vin alone in the waiting room. Tanner glanced over at the older man, who was trying to hide a yawn behind his hand.

          "Why don't y' try an' get some sleep. I'll go sit with Chris."

          Josiah paused for a moment, then nodded. "I'll do that, brother, but _after_ the uniforms get here."

          "All right," Vin replied and they rose and made their way to Chris' room, finding the man still unconscious.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**5:45 p.m.**

 

          His eyes opened slowly and he found himself staring into the face of the man who had shot him, maybe. It was also the face of the man he'd seen sitting in the Jeep. It was the face of his friend… his best friend… and something more, but he wasn't sure what that was.

The man's eyes were closed, and it looked like he might be praying.

"Vin?" he said softly.

          Tanner's eyes flew open, filled with a mixture of disbelief, amazement, and joy. "Chris?" came the equally soft reply.

          The name echoed in his consciousness, and he could feel the pieces of his missing memory begin to fall back into place again. He nodded.

          Vin reached out and lightly touched Larabee's face. Then he slid his arm under the blond's shoulders and lifted him up, pulling him into a crushing hug. The sniper's body shook as he sobbed, holding Chris as if he were afraid the man might just disappear again if he let him go.

          Larabee was more than a little surprised to find himself crying as well, as he hugged Tanner in return.

          "Hell, Chris," Vin gulped, "what happened? We thought y' were dead."

          "I… I'm not sure," Larabee admitted. "It's still all a little fuzzy."

          "I shot ya," Vin managed to force out of his too-tight throat. "I shot y', Chris. 'M so sorry. I never meant t' hurt ya."

          "I know," the older man replied, his hand rubbing circles on Vin's back. "I know, Vin. I know."

          "Thought I'd killed ya," Tanner moaned. "Then I heard y' was alive, tortured."

          "You heard?" Chris asked him. "How?"

          Tanner explained. "I knew then that I might as well 'a killed y' out there on the lake. I'd killed y' just as sure as if I _had_ shot ya."

          "Vin," Chris said, pulling back a little, but Tanner wasn't ready to let go. "Vin, easy, listen to me. I'm alive. This wasn't your fault."

          "Like hell it wasn't," the sniper said, his grip easing enough so Larabee could lie back down. He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced off several steps. "They didn't look fer y' 'cause I was so sure I'd shot ya. If we'd looked fer y' maybe—"

          "Vin," Chris interrupted, "this had nothing to do with work, or you, or the team. This was something from _my_ past."

          "Seiler," Tanner said, nodding.

          Chris felt more of his lost memories crystallize. "He—"

          "Buck told me who he is," Vin said. "Man who tried t' kill Sarah."

          The blond nodded. "He was obsessed with her, and the other women who lived in their apartment building. They were all art students at the university. Sarah was a double-major, art and psychology; she was planning to be an art therapist. But Robert Seiler fixated on them. Three of the five girls were killed before we got a handle on who was responsible. We managed to catch him before Sarah and Kelly Simmons, the fifth roommate, were killed."

          Vin nodded and forced himself to walk over and sit down in the chair he'd pulled over close to the bedside earlier.

          "They sent Seiler to a mental institution. How the hell he got out is something I plan to find out."

          "And he came lookin' fer ya."

          "For Sarah, I'd guess. Kelly Simmons died a couple of years after Seiler was convicted – lost control of her car during a storm and died in the wreck. When he found out Sarah was dead… he blamed me. Said he could bring her back… if I died."

          "Christ," Tanner breathed. "How long did he have ya?"

          Chris thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not sure."

          Vin's head dipped and he stared at the floor. "We should 'a found ya."

          "Damn it, Tanner, you did what you could. None of you are mind-readers."

          Vin looked up at that, a smile forcing its way onto his lips in spite of his desire to blame himself for what had happened to Larabee. "We missed you, Chris," he said softly, and reached out to grip the man's hand.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, August 15 th**

**10 a.m.**

 

          Vin walked in carrying a plastic grocery bag with some of Larabee's clothes. He handed it to the man, grinning at his relieved expression.

          "Glad you finally got here," Chris grumbled. "Thought I was gonna have to wear the stuff Buck dropped off earlier."

          "Wouldn't embarrass y' like that, pard," Vin said as seriously as he could.

          Chris maneuvered around to the edge of the bed, still stiff and sore, but it was getting better. He pulled his shirt off.

          "Shit, Larabee, what the hell he do t' ya?" Vin yelped, staring at Larabee's back, which was dotted with small red circles that looked like burns and crisscrossed with healing shallow cuts.

          Chris blinked and looked down at his chest, which was also covered by the same marks. "Some kind of electric stunner," he said. "And his favorite weapon, a scalpel."

          Vin found himself fighting to draw a breath as it struck him again just what his friend had gone through while they'd thought he was dead. "Jesus, Chris, how'd—"

          "Don't really feel like talking about it," Larabee interrupted.

          "All right," Vin said, making a quick inspection of the room while Chris dressed, insuring all of Larabee's personal items, medications, and the like were gathered and deposited into the gym bag Buck had dropped off yesterday, just for that purpose.

          When Chris was ready, Vin stepped out of the room to let a nurse know and, a few minutes later, an orderly arrived with a wheelchair.

Much to Tanner's surprise, Larabee slipped silently into the chair, allowing the young man to roll him to the exit where Buck was already parked and waiting.

          Chris climbed into the Ram and settled back, his eyes closing against the throb that had taken up residence inside his skull.

          "Ready to go home, stud?" Wilmington asked him.

          "The office," Chris replied without opening his eyes.

          "Chris—"

          "You heard me, Buck," Larabee growled.

          The ladies' man exchanged a worried glance with Vin, who just shrugged and shook his head, not at all sure what was bothering the blond. "All right," he said, waiting for Vin to walk over to his Jeep before he pulled away from the curb.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 


	7. Reports of My Death 7

**11 a.m.**

 

          "Where the hell is my stuff?" Chris asked, stepping back out of his now-empty office.

          The others all looked up, surprise and then embarrassment on their faces.

          "Uh, we, uh, packed it all up," Buck said. "Travis was talking about a new man and—"

          "But where is it?" Larabee asked them, annoyance fading as he saw the pain on his friends' faces.

          "Out at the ranch," Josiah supplied.

          Chris nodded.

          Buck walked over, saying softly, "We just didn't want a stranger rifling through everything, so we packed it up and took it out to your place. JD and I will drive out and bring it back for you."

          "I'd appreciate it," Chris sighed, reaching up to rub at his aching temples.

          "Want us to take you out there at the same time?" the ladies' man asked hopefully. "You look like you could use some rest."

          Chris thought about arguing, but he knew he needed to lie down. Then he glanced across the room and caught the expression on Vin's face. He shook his head carefully. "Thanks, but I've already got a ride," he said and headed over to Tanner's desk.

          Vin looked up after a moment.

          "You think you could drive me out to the ranch?" Chris asked him.

          "Uh, sure," the sniper said, looking confused as he watched Buck and JD heading out. "Aren't they—?"

          "Yeah, but I don't think I could handle the constant conversation without shooting one or both of 'em," Larabee admitted.

          Nathan grinned. "Head hurting, Chris?"

          "Yeah," he said. "Hasn't really stopped hurting."

          "You be sure you take your medications on time," the medic said. "You want a couple of Aleve now?"

          Chris thought for a moment, then shook his head, carefully. "No, but thanks, Nate. I'll have to take my pills when I get out there anyway, and then I'm just going to go to bed and see if I can sleep it off."

          "I'll drop by this evening to see how you're doing," Jackson said.

          "Nathan—"

          "Humor him," Josiah interrupted, "he's gotten a little out of practice the last two weeks."

          Larabee fought back a small smile and sighed. "All right."

          Chris turned and headed for the door, Vin standing and following him, but Ezra stepped up to block his path, saying quietly, "We'll bring out something for dinner, and some fresh basics."

          Tanner nodded, glancing from the undercover man to Josiah and Nathan. He knew he wasn't in this alone, but he was feeling awfully on his own at the moment.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**12:45 p.m.**

 

          By the time they arrived at the ranch Buck and JD had already arrived, picked up the boxes, and left. Vin was both grateful, unsure if he could handle any more sympathetic looks from the others, and a little scared. At least Chris had no idea what the sniper had been through and wasn't watching him like a hawk for the breakdown they all assumed was coming, sooner or later.

          "Y' want anything before y' lay down?" he asked Larabee.

          "Gonna go see the horses," Chris replied.

          Vin scowled. "Y' think that's smart? Y' look like yer 'bout ready t' fall over."

          "I'm fine," Chris replied, his tone short and snappish.

          "Sorry," Tanner said, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender when he realized that they were arguing.

          Chris blinked and started to say something, but then he shook his head and turned, starting across the open space that separated the house from the barn.

          Tanner watched him go, silently praying that he didn't end up falling face-first to the ground before he got halfway there. Damn stubborn fool.

He headed into the house, making some coffee and digging through the duffle bag to find Larabee's medications and setting them out on the kitchen counter.

Chris came in to join him a short while later, accepting a cup of coffee and taking his pills. Then, without a word passing between them, Vin escorted Chris to his room, turned back the bed and waited until the man was settled under the covers before leaving, drawing the door shut behind him.

In the hallway, Vin sighed softly and leaned back against the wall. He silently cursed himself for not being excited about Larabee being home. But he wasn't. Grateful, yes, but not excited. He might have been excited if Chris was acting more like his old self, but he wasn't. This Chris Larabee was something of a stranger to him, and Vin wasn't at all sure he could reach this man. He hoped he could, but he wasn't at all sure he could, or if this man even called him lover, hell, or a friend.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, August 16 th**

**8 a.m.**

 

The following morning, Chris found Vin working out in the barn, cleaning out the stalls. But it was clear that they didn't need to be cleaned. Just like the house didn't. In fact, Chris couldn't remember ever seeing the place looking so neat and tidy. It was as if Vin had gone on a binge and scoured the place from ceilings to floors, and hadn't missed a single spot in between.

And, unlike his office, nothing in the house had been packed up, just put away. Even his dirty clothes had been washed and returned to the appropriate drawers. His sheets had been changed, the dirty ones laundered and put away. Even his truck had been washed and cleaned, inside and out.

It was more than a little disconcerting.

The food in the cabinets hadn't been touched, and the refrigerator was empty. That had been remedied when Ezra and the others had stopped by yesterday evening with several armloads of groceries.

Hadn't Vin eaten here? Josiah had told him that Tanner had been spending most of his time out at the ranch, but it was obvious that Vin hadn't been eating while he was there. The man had lost several pounds, and Tanner didn't have fat to spare.

He frowned. What the hell had Tanner been thinking, treating himself like that?

 _That he'd killed you_ , a small voice in his head reminded him.

 _Shit_.

Chris sighed. The whole fucking situation was taking some getting used to. When he'd woken earlier, he'd opened his eyes and stared up at his surroundings, disoriented at first. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he'd last slept in his own bed, and even though nothing had really changed, it no longer looked like the same room he'd called his own.

He guessed that a part of that was the lingering traces of Vin that clung to the room – slight scents, objects not quite in their usual spots, and the extreme cleanliness. Even the clothes in his closet were now hanging evenly spaced across the wardrobe rack, for Christ's sake.

He'd risen and headed for the bathroom, almost hesitant at first to turn on the water lest he spatter the countertop, but he had, and then he'd climbed into the shower, dressed, and gone to the kitchen to make them some coffee.

He paused, watching Tanner work and frowned. Where had Vin slept?

He'd checked the living room, but there were no blankets on the sofa, so he'd walked back to the closed door of the guest bedroom, turning the knob and pushing the door so it swung open. The bed was made, and he wasn't sure if the bed had been slept in or not.

He'd stepped into the room. It had been Adam's once, long ago, and for almost a year after the boy's death the door had remained shut, the contents untouched. But then he'd finally forced himself back into the room to face his memories.

He'd cried and raged against his loss, but then he'd boxed up the toys and clothes and took them down to a local shelter, offering them to the woman who ran the place. And she had accepted them with honest gratitude and concern. They'd gone for coffee, Chris telling her about what had happened to Sarah and Adam.

That was the first time he'd used Adam's name in over a year, and it had felt strangely good, healing. Then he'd gone home and, over the next few months, had transformed the room into a guest bedroom. But there was still a pair of small paintings hanging on one wall, right where they'd been when Adam was alive. They were both pictures of wild horses running across a Nevada desert and he just couldn't part with them. His son had loved them, and he'd spent many a night making up stories about the mustangs in an effort to lull the boy to sleep.

He'd sighed softly then, and sat down on the foot of the bed. Glancing over at the small writing desk he saw the letter he'd left with his lawyer for Vin.

He swallowed hard. God, how hard must it have been for the man, thinking himself responsible for Chris' death and then discovering that the man he'd "killed" had left his home to him in his will. But he'd already told Tanner he was going to do that, so at least it hadn't come as a surprise.

Picking up the envelope, he'd pulled out the letter and re-read it, noting the slightly raised, circular marks on the paper as he did. Tearstains, he realized with a cold chill.

Standing, he'd folded the paper up again and slipped it back into the envelope, then headed outside to find Tanner.

          And he had found him in the barn, cleaning clean stalls. "I never meant to make it harder on you, ya know," he said in lieu of a greeting.

          Vin looked up, his gaze meeting Chris' for just a moment before it dropped again to the letter Larabee was holding in his hand. "Y' didn't make it worse."

          "Yeah, I did. And for that I'm sorry, but you had to know that even if things _had_ gone down the way you thought they had, I wouldn't have blamed you."

          Tanner just stood there for a moment, and at first Chris wasn't sure he'd really heard him. Then the sniper went back to work, saying, "Reckon I knew that, too, but it didn't matter. I blamed m'self. It was m' fault y' were dead. I sure as hell didn't deserve anything from y'… 'specially those things y' said in that letter."

          Chris walked around so Vin was facing him and held out the letter. "I meant every word of it, Vin. I still do."

          Tanner stared at the envelope, but he made no move to take it. "Y' know what hurt the worst?" he asked, his raspy, tight voice barely above a whisper.

          "What?"

          "What y' wrote in there… could be I'd say 'bout the same if I's t' write a letter like that fer you. But I knew I'd never get the chance t' do that; never get the chance t' tell y' how much y' mean t' me." Vin looked up then, the pain in his eyes taking Chris' breath away. "Now I got y' back an'… I ain't sure y' still feel like that."

          "Hell, Vin, of course I do." That seemed to ease some of the distress he saw in the man's expressive blue eyes, but it didn't take it away, and he wasn't sure why.

          "You've shut me out," the sniper said softly. "Didn't know what y' were thinkin'."

          Chris dipped his head. "I'm sorry, Vin," he said and sighed. Looking back up he added, "I guess I'm still trying to deal with everything that happened. Seiler might be crazy, but in a way he was right. I did kill Sarah."

          "The hell you did," Tanner snapped. "Man who killed her was the one who put that bomb in the car. He wanted to kill you, but he knew he might kill yer family instead, or kill 'em right alongside you. That's the man who killed Sarah and Adam, _not_ you."

          Chris knew Vin was telling him the truth, but he just couldn't let go of all the guilt. He'd nursed it for so long and so well that it had become a part of him. But he also knew he couldn't be the man he'd become after his family had been murdered, either. That man had died, eight months ago, and Tanner had killed _him_. _But not me_ , Chris thought. _I'm still alive, and I'm not throwing away what I have now. Not for the likes of Robert Seiler… not even for a memory_.

          "I made some coffee," Chris said. "Why don't we go in and get a cup and talk. I think it might do us both some good."

          Vin nodded, this time taking the letter when Chris held it out to him again.

          As they walked back to the house Larabee said, "I meant to tell you while I was in the hospital, but you weren't around much after I woke up."

"I was out here, gettin' the place ready fer ya."

Chris grinned slightly. "I can see that. But the doctor said I hadn't been shot, not by a bullet anyway."

          "What?" Vin asked, confused. "But I saw—"

          "You saw me get hit by a tranquilizer dart. I don't know where that shot went, Vin, but you didn't hurt me. Hell, the way you shoot, you might've killed the guy who was trying to slit my throat – damn magician."

          Tanner huffed out a breath. "They're sure?"

          "Yeah, they're sure. No bullet wounds on my hide. Plenty of others, but not that kind, so stop kicking yourself in the ass for that, okay?"

          Tanner felt part of the burden he'd been carrying since that day on the lake lift from his shoulders and, suddenly, it was a little easier to breathe again. He glanced at Larabee, curious if the older men remembered the turn their friendship had taken a couple of months ago. There were times, like now, he wasn't convinced the blond remembered that they'd become lovers, and he wasn't sure he wanted to remind the man.

          Maybe it would be easier if they went back to just being friends. He could live with that. At least, he hoped he could.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11 p.m.**

 

          Chris dreamed. He was back on the streets of Purgatory, lost and confused, moving furtively from alley to alley, trying to find someone, anyone who could help him. Then, he turned a corner and stepped into the dark shadows at the corner of a parking lot. Across from him was a building, a large mural painted on one wall.

          He scanned the lot, looking for the enemies who were dogging him, but he didn't see them. Instead, he saw someone sitting in an old Jeep, a man, holding a gun in his hands.

          He watched as the man turned the weapon over in his hands as if trying to decide what to do with it. There was anguish on the man's face, and he knew, somehow, that he was to blame.

          Vin.

          The man was Vin. And, as he continued to watch, Tanner lifted the gun, pressing the barrel against his temple and pulling the trigger.

          "No!" he cried.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Chris woke with a start.

          _Jesus_ , he thought, trying to separate dream from memory. He _had_ seen Vin in the parking lot that night, and Tanner _had_ been on the edge of making the same decision he'd just seen in his dream.

And then, with a sudden and sure realization, he knew the truth: Vin had been dying right alongside him. He also knew why.

How the hell could he forget that they'd become lovers? They hadn't told any of the others, but they had crossed the line between friendship and love a couple of months back. And he'd forgotten that?

Granted, he'd been drugged and tortured. A madman had drawn him into a web of guilt and insanity, dredging up all the feelings of loss he'd felt when Sarah and Adam had been killed. He's been fixated on her and in the process had forgotten what he'd found with Vin.

He couldn't let that stand.

          He climbed out of bed and dressed, then headed down the hall to the guest room. He wasn't surprised to find it empty, but he was surprised when he saw the living room was as well. Where the hell was Vin?

Fear making his heart pound, Chris stepped out onto the patio where he found Tanner sitting on the steps, staring up at the stars.

          "Never want t' feel like that again," the sniper said quietly.

          "No way to avoid it," Chris said, reining in all the emotions that were churning through his heart and mind. He didn't want to scare the man off before he said what he had to say. "Sooner or later one of us is probably going to get himself killed. It's just the way the world works, especially in our line of work."

          Vin sighed softly. "Yeah, guess that's so, but I'll tell y', I'd rather take a bullet 'n be left behind again."

          "Yeah, I know," Chris said. "Been there… and almost did what you did. I just didn't pick a gun as my weapon of choice."

          Tanner glanced back at him, his expression confused.

          Chris went over and sat down next to the younger man, staring out into the darkness. "When Sarah and Adam died I didn't want to live, either. I didn't think I could, really, but I was too much of a coward to just kill myself with a bullet. I picked a slow death… in a bottle, instead."

          Vin looked away, suddenly ashamed. He hoped Chris didn't really know how close he'd come to killing himself. Hell, the specter of that desire still clung to his thoughts.

          "I saw you, Vin," Larabee said quietly.

          "What?"

          "That night, in the parking lot of your apartment building, I saw you sitting there in the Jeep with the Glock."

          Tanner's spine straightened. "You _saw_ me?"

          Larabee nodded.

          Vin's voice rose. "Y' saw me an' y' let me go on thinkin' you were dead?"

          "Vin, I—"

          "What the hell's wrong with y', Larabee? Sonuvabitch!" He shot to his feet, shaking with anger.

          "I didn't remember who you were," Chris argued. "I didn't know—"

          "Didn't—?" Vin deflated faster than his anger had flared. "Ah, hell, 'm sorry, Chris," he moaned. "Course y' didn't know. Between the drugs an' all that had happened t' ya…"

          "I was just dreaming about it. That's when I realized— Vin, so help me God, you go and do something stupid like that and I swear I'll kick your ass all the way to Hell when you get over to the other side."

          "Couldn't be no worse 'n what I was livin' here."

          "Vin, listen to me," Chris said, turning slightly so he could reach out and rest his hand on Tanner's shoulder. "If I die, or get killed, you have to go on. You have to find a way to live, you hear me?"

          "Didn't feel much like bein' alone," Vin managed in a whisper.

          "You aren't alone. Believe me; I've walked this road before. I know it feels like you are, but you aren't. There are too many people who care about you out there – the boys, Nettie, Casey – you know as well as I do that they love you; they care about you. You can't do that to them, not for me… Vin, please."

          "Ain't makin' no promises," the sniper replied, shaking his head.

          "You're making one," Larabee countered.

Tanner turned, the defiant look in his eyes telling Chris that he wasn't in the mood to negotiate.

          "All right, look, I'm asking you to do this for me, as a personal favor. If anything should happen to me, I want you to wait a year."

          "What?"

          "Give it a year. And then, if you still can't find a reason to keep going, well, it always comes down to a choice, doesn't it?"

          "Chris, I—"

          "A year, Vin. Three hundred and sixty-five days. That isn't too much to ask for, is it?"

          Tanner drew a deep breath. "Y' don't understand, Chris. I thought I'd killed ya. I gave up, because 'a that. The others believed it, too. They accepted the fact that y' were gone. We never looked fer ya. We never thought there was any reason t' look. Everything that psycho did t' y'… that was _my_ fault. Don't y' understand? If I hadn't given up, we might 'a found ya!"

"Vin, it _wasn't_ your fault. Seiler's insane. He thought Sarah's blood would give him dominion over Hell. He thought killing me would bring her back from the dead, so he could kill her and control all the demons in the world. He's _crazy_."

          " _Is_ crazy," Tanner snapped. "He's still out there."

          "I know that, but what he did to me wasn't your fault." He took a deep breath and let his own worst fears escape. "I guess I felt like I deserved what he did to me."

          "What?" Tanner snapped.

          "I've never really been able to let go of the guilt," he said quietly. "I've never been able to stop blaming myself for Sarah's and Adam's deaths. When Seiler had me it was like I was finally being punished for their deaths, and I felt… relieved."

          "Damn, Chris, now _that's_ just pure crazy talkin'. You didn't plant that bomb. You're _not_ to blame for their deaths."

          "And you weren't to blame for mine."

          "That's different!"

          "No, it isn't. Hell, Vin, seems the hardest thing either of us have to learn is to let go of the guilt. I'm trying, are you?"

          Tanner thought for a moment, then sighed tiredly. "I want to," he admitted, "I really want to. 'M so damn tired, Chris. 'M tired 'a hurtin' all the time."

          Larabee nodded his understanding. "Look, we're not going to solve this sitting out here tonight. Why don't you come in and get some sleep. We'll both just have to keep working on it a little bit each day. You willing to do that?"

          Vin nodded. "Don't see as I got any choice in the matter. Y' ain't gonna let me be 'til I say I will."

          "Damn straight I won't."

          "Anybody ever tell y' yer as stubborn as a stray dog with a soup bone?"

          Larabee laughed. "In those words, no, but I've heard something like that a few times."

          "Well, whatever words y' heard, they's true."

          "Takes one to know one, Tanner." And Chris stood and offered his hand.

          Vin took it and allowed himself to be tugged up to his feet. Then, before he could bolt, Chris wrapped him in a hug and Vin returned it without even thinking.

When they stepped apart, Chris turned and led the way into the house. He shut and locked the back door, then started toward the master bedroom. Vin stopped at the door to the guest room.

"Don't you think it's time you came back to our bed?" Larabee asked, seeing Vin visibly flinch at the comment.

"Ain't sure you really want that."

"Don't know what the hell I want, Vin, but I'm not going to figure it out if we keep ignoring it. Now, c'mon, let's go to bed."

Vin hesitated, then followed Chris into the master bedroom. He swallowed hard, but climbed in under the covers. He rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes as Chris climbed in as well.

"If y' want t' go back t' just friends… I can do that."

"How?" Chris asked.

"Ain't sure," Vin said. "But I'd rather spend the rest of m' life gettin' t' really know m' own right hand 'n lose your friendship."

Chris thought about that for a long moment. It was an incredible offer, really. God knew if he'd been given the choice of losing Sarah and never being able to make love to her, he'd would've done whatever it took to stay with her. He'd loved her that much. And Vin loved him at least as much as he'd loved Sarah.

Did he love Vin that much?

He thought he might, but the rawness of Sarah's loss was still too painful to really know for sure.

"You'll never lose that friendship," Chris reassured him. "And I'm not saying I want to end what we had… I just need a little time."

It was Vin's turn to consider the man's words for a long moment. "Reckon I can give y' some time."

"Thank you," Chris said, shifting so he was spooned up behind Vin. Tanner's body went rigid for a moment, but then he relaxed, and as he did Larabee was able to do so as well. It felt good, and safe, holding Vin like that, and Vin seemed to like it, too.

Maybe they could get back to normal. Maybe he wanted to, just as much as Vin did. He hoped so, because he didn't want to cause the younger man any more pain, not if he could help it.

"'Night, Cowboy."

Chris snorted softly. "Cowboy? How many times do I have to tell you—"

"Not t' call me a Goddamn cowboy," Vin mimicked, finishing the common line between them.

"When are you going to listen to me?"

"One day… maybe," Vin replied, snuggling back a little.

"Yeah, sure…"

"Never know."

"Go to sleep, Vin."

"How 'm I supposed t' do that when y' keep yammerin'?"

"Damn ornery Texan…"

Vin smiled, feeling hope for the first time since that day on the lake…


	8. Death Strikes Twice 1

**Sunday, November 6, 1999**

**2:25 p.m.**

 

Vin lay underneath his beloved Jeep, staring up at the cracked axel – a memento of their last case, and the off-road chase he had been forced to engage in.

He sighed heavily as he affectionately patted the vehicle. "Well ol' girl, looks like you're gonna spend some time with Roberto. This is worse 'n I thought…"

Deciding he might as well surrender to the inevitable, he reached for one of the numerous tools that lay scattered around him to secure the new oil pan, but stopped short at the sound of another vehicle puling into the parking lot. _Hope that's Chris an' Buck with some lunch_ , he thought as he checked his watch. _'Bout damn time. No wonder 'm layin' here starvin'_. The men were almost half an hour late.

It hadn't been all that long ago he'd found it impossible to eat. But now, with Chris back from the dead and healed sufficiently to return to work, Vin was hungry all the time.

He shut the thoughts off. It was still too painful to think about that time. Thinking first that he had killed Chris, and then realizing that, because he had thought so, he hadn't been looking for the man while he had been tortured by a complete nut-job who thought he could bring a dead woman back to life by slowly killing Larabee. The guilt had nearly killed him, twice.

As it was they were still dancing around a return to the relationship they'd shared when Chris had been abducted. There were days Vin despaired of ever making love to Larabee again, and others he thought maybe, just maybe, they'd get back there. Chris was trying, he knew that, and they'd kissed and cuddled, but they hadn't made love since the end of September – thirty-seven days.

Vin had finally started spending a little more time at his apartment just so he could take the edge off in some privacy.

There was a new distance between them, too, he knew that, and it wasn't just about the lack of sex. They just weren't as comfortable around each other as they had been. He wasn't sure who was to blame, or it they both were. To be honest, he'd basically given up worrying about it, the effort too painful.

Rolling out from under the Jeep, Vin climbed to his feet, gaze sweeping the parking, looking for the Black Ram or Wilmington's red Trans Am. But the only vehicle he didn't recognize was a dark sedan that had parked nearby. He frowned, brushing what dirt he could off his jeans and long-sleeve T-shirt before pulling on his jean jacket and running his fingers through his shoulder-length chestnut hair. It was getting chilly, the bite in the breeze telling him there was a chance of some snow overnight.

He turned and started gathering up his tools, dropping them haphazardly into his open toolbox to be sorted later. As he worked, two men exited his apartment building and started for the car, both wearing dark suits and sunglasses that clearly labeled them "feds." As soon as they spotted him, they veered off course and headed his way.

Tanner frowned. It wasn't often he saw federal agents in his Purgatory neighborhood unless, of course, they were the members of his own ATF team.

As the two men approached Vin, one of them extracted his identification and flashed it at Tanner before he reached out to shake his hand. "John Lyons, FBI," he said. "This is my partner, Tom McMillian."

"Vin Tanner, ATF," the agent responded, his forehead furrowing with anxiety. "Something wrong, boys?"

"No, nothing's wrong. We're working on the Seiler case," Lyons explained as he glanced at Tanner's old Jeep. "Now that's a classic."

Tanner grinned thinly and nodded. "Y' making some headway on the case?" he asked. The case had been handed off to the FBI once they had gotten Chris back, but… "Thought Angelo Vargus was working that case," he added casually.

The two men exchanged glances. "Yeah, there's been a break. Vargus asked for some help," Lyons told him.

Tanner nodded. "Appreciate the good news," he said, "but why come see me?"

"We're trying to locate Agent Larabee, actually. Vargus said you were the man to ask," Lyons explained.

 _Was_ , Vin thought to himself. He and Larabee had drifted apart a little since Seiler had abducted and tortured Chris. And Vin couldn't help but think the man really did hold him responsible – down deep inside – just like he did himself.

"He was supposed t' be here at two; didn't show. Not really sure where he might be. Guess y' could look for him at Wilmington's place."

Lyons nodded. "Okay, guess we'll do that. Sorry to have wasted your time. If he shows up, have him give Vargus a call, will you?" He extended his hand for a second time.

"Sure," Vin said, reaching out and taking it without hesitation. He realized his mistake a moment too late to correct it.

Lyons grabbed his hand, stepping back and to the side, snapping his wrist over into a locked position and prompting a grunt of pain from the startled ATF agent. At the same time, the second man, McMillan, withdrew a gun from his shoulder holster and fired.

Feeling the sting of a dart rather than a bullet entering his thigh, Vin struggled, trying frantically to break free, but it was already too late. He felt his muscles begin to stiffen, then the parking lot of his apartment building began to dissolve into a thick grey fog that sucked away his awareness.

_Shit…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A little earlier**

**2:05 p.m.**

 

"Hey, Buck, you ready?" Chris called up the stairs in his long-time friend's living room. "It's already after two."

"Yeah, just a sec. I just have to grab some stuff I bagged up for Mindy," came the man's response.

"What?" Chris asked, then shook his head. God only knew what Buck Wilmington might be bagging up for a woman; _he_ certainly didn't need to know.

A burst of laughter drifted down the stairs, followed closely by the ladies' man, who was obviously pleased with himself.

"Dare I ask?" Chris questioned him, an almost pained expression on his face; the Lothario's exploits were legendary.

"Of course you dare!" Buck replied with a broad grin on his face. "Mindy's just helpin' out with her church's effort to collect some coats for the homeless. Figured JD and me could get rid of a few we don't wear any more." Buck wagged his eyebrows. "She thinks it's sweet that I agreed to help her out with a few more men's coats."

"Sweet, huh?" Chris replied, shaking his head. "If she only knew…"

Wilmington tried to look hurt by Larabee's comment, but he couldn't quite pull it off. "What, you don't think I'm sweet?"

Chris shook his head again, refusing to answer. "Come on, Romeo, Vin's gonna think we forgot all about him." And the truth was, he had forgotten, lost in his own thoughts about his faltering relationship with the man.

Buck's gaze drifted to the clock on the wall. "Damn, stud, why didn't you give me a holler earlier?" he asked. "By the time we grab some food and get over there it's going to be almost three."

Larabee dipped his head slightly. He didn't have a good answer for that one, either. He knew they should have left half an hour ago, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

It was frustrating, too. From the first moment he and Tanner had met, he'd felt comfortable around the man, like he'd known Vin his entire life, but now… Hell, now he was looking for any excuse he could find to avoid being around Tanner, especially in his bedroom. And Vin knew it, too.

But what really bothered him was the fact he didn't understand _why_ he couldn't seem to stand being around Vin for any length of time any more. It made no sense. Even setting said their moribund sexual relationship, Vin was his friend, his best friend when all was said and done, and the closest thing to a brother he'd ever had.

"Come on," Buck said, interrupting Larabee's thoughts, "we better get movin'; you know how Vin gets right now if he doesn't eat."

Chris nodded, feeling another wave of guilt wash over him. Oh, yeah, he knew. It was exactly what happened to _him_ if he didn't eat something every couple of hours. Tanner had let himself get run down while Chris had been held hostage by Robert Seiler, and he hadn't quite recovered fully. Neither of them had really – mentally or physically. And Chris wasn't at all sure their friendship, let alone their relationship, ever would.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**2:50 p.m.**

 

"Hey, Vin!" Chris called as he climbed out of his Ram and started over to the Jeep. He stepped over a couple of tools thinking, _Something's wrong_. _Vin would never leave his stuff laying out here like this. Where the hell is he?_

"Maybe he had to go pick up a part," Buck volunteered as if he'd heard Chris' unspoken question. There was a Pep Boys just a block away and the younger man often walked down to the store when he needed something.

"Maybe," was the blond's reply, but it sounded less than convinced. Chris circled the Jeep, looking for something to stop the alarm ringing deep inside his mind.

"I'll go check his apartment," Wilmington volunteered.

Larabee nodded, but he wasn't looking at Buck.

After checking around the vehicle twice, Chris leaned over and finished picking up the tools, tossing them into the toolbox and putting that back into the rear cargo space of the Jeep. He checked the ignition, but found no keys.

"Nobody's home," Buck announced when he returned a few minutes later. When Larabee reached into his pocket to take out his cell phone, the ladies' man added, "Don't bother. His cell phone's lying on the coffee table. So, what now?"

"Now we wait."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**6:10 p.m.**

 

The two agents sat in the Ram until it got dark, Chris' mood deteriorating steadily with the fading light.

"He damn well better not be at the Saloon, having himself a beer," Chris mumbled as he shivered in the cool evening air. He reached for his jacket and pulled it on, trying not to think about what might have kept Vin away for nearly three hours.

"It's not like Vin," Buck added needlessly. "He wouldn't go to Inez's without us. He knew we were supposed to pick him up."

Chris only grunted in reply. But they hadn't picked him up, at least not when they'd promised to. They'd been late, almost an hour late. _Damn it,_ he thought. What was wrong with him? It was like he was purposefully trying to hurt Vin, to punish him, and for what? Thinking he'd killed him? For being there every step of the way during his recovery?

He had no answers.

 _You're in trouble, Vin. I can feel that much. And I can't do a damn thing except sit here_. He sighed heavily. "Come on, let's go to the office and get to work."

"Work?" Buck questioned, clearly confused. They had just wrapped up their first case since Chris and Vin had both returned to work. There wasn't anything to work on just yet, although he expected Travis to change that on Monday morning.

"Start looking for Vin," Larabee clarified.

The ladies' man nodded. "Oh… Don't you think we should call whoever's still in town, see if he's with one of them?"

Chris already knew Vin wasn't, but he nodded and let Buck make the calls. When they turned up nothing, they headed for the federal building.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The first thing that penetrated the thick fog of confusion in his mind was a sense of the darkness surrounding him. It was pitch black. Vin tried to open his eyes, finally realizing several moments later that a blindfold precluded the possibility.

More awareness began to filter in slowly. There were ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles… He was lying on his side, on a cement floor, which was icy-cold beneath his bare skin… He was naked… His thigh ached.

He tested the ropes and found them tight and securely knotted.

Unable to see anything, he listened carefully, trying to determine where he might be, but the only things he could hear were the sounds of his own heart beating and his breathing.

_Ah hell, what've I gotten into this time? The boys are gonna wonder where the hell I am, I hope. How long have I been out?_

_Hope to hell they figure this out—_

The piercing cry of rusted hinges cut through Vin's thoughts, silencing them. A door was being pushed open somewhere close by. Footsteps announced someone entering the room.

A soft, almost girlish giggle filled the air around him, the sound lifting goose pimples across Vin's skin.

"So, this is to be my sacrifice?" came a man's voice. "Sacrifice, yes. He looks… comfortable. Yes, comfort. He gave comfort to the Chosen One."

"Better 'n a Holiday Inn," Vin mumbled sarcastically. The speaker was definitely a man, but his voice was pitched slightly high and with an unusual rhythm to it, like he wanted to sing-song the words, but hadn't. The effect sent a chill racing down Tanner's spine.

"Ah, a man with spirit," the voice countered. "This is good, very good. Spirit separates us from the animals; makes us powerful… So very, very powerful. But for how long, Vincent? How long will your power last? Do you know? I know. Your spirit, your power, belongs to another, and He is coming… coming soon, to feed upon you… upon your pain. He will devour you… slowly, slowly, carefully. It will be a moment of pure… beauty. And I shall capture it in color… in emotion… in blood."

Vin heard the man give a barked call for "Tio" and, moments later, a pair of hands roughly rolled him over onto his back. He struggled weakly, but his muscles were cold and sluggish. Then the familiar sting of an injection bit into his upper arm.

"Hey," Vin protested as the drug entered his system, but the hands were gone.

"Powerful spirit… yes, yes, powerful indeed. Pure and beautiful. A worthy sacrifice to bring the Chosen One. He will be pleased… yes, pleased. Beautiful spirit… He will relish the sacrifice, and I will paint perfection. The walls of fire shall separate, and the Chosen One will pay with his life. She will return… Beauty, but first… a sacrifice. Tio, bring me my paints, and the razors."

As the drug entered his system, Vin was slowly disconnected from conscious control of his body, and his thoughts, sinking swiftly into a twisted, burning darkness constructed from the words the voice spoke. He struggled, but it was wasted effort, and he quickly found himself lost in this new reality, a reality defined by pain.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	9. Death Strikes Twice 2

**Monday, November 7 th, 1999**

**5:20 a.m.**

 

It was still dark outside, the clouds thickening along the foothills with the threat of snow. The men in the office gathered at one desk, watching the computer screen. It beeped and came up empty.

JD slumped back in his chair and scowled at the machine. "I'm sorry, Chris," he said to the man sitting next to him, still staring at the blank screen. "That's all there is."

"At least we know he's not in the hospital," Buck said. He was sitting next to Larabee. He rubbed his eyes, which were red and sore from staring at computer screens all night.

"Or in the morgue," JD added in a soft whisper.

"Or in jail," Buck offered, prompting a thin, humorless smile from Chris. "Speaking of which," he added, "shouldn't Kenny be here by now?"

"He said he'd stop by before his shift started," Chris explained. Lieutenant Kenny Adams was an old friend of Larabee's, the two men having worked together for a couple of years while Chris had been with the Denver Police Department. Buck had known him, too, just not as well as Chris, Larabee and Adams having been partnered while Chris was still a uniformed patrol officer.

JD opened his mouth to comment, but the sound of the elevator arriving on their floor stopped him.

"Vin?" Buck asked, pushing to his feet, but Larabee was already half-way out the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Josiah was surprised to see Larabee stepping out of the office. "How's Vin doing?" he asked, picking up the pace, wondering why Chris wasn't at the hospital.

"How Vin's doing?" Chris echoed, confused.

"I heard about the accident," the big profiler said as he reached Larabee. "He's all right, isn't he?"

"What accident?" Chris demanded, his patience long since gone.

Josiah gave the blond an equally confused look as they reached the office. "Vin wasn't hurt?" he asked as they entered.

"Vin was hurt?" JD asked the older man, suddenly looking confused as well. He glanced at Buck.

"Wait a damn minute—" Chris started, his hands coming up to stop the comments before he exploded on someone.

"Vin's missing," Buck cut in, speaking to Josiah. "What's this about him being hurt?"

Josiah sat down at his desk. "You remember Ernesto Chavez?"

"Uh, the older guy who runs the coffee shop across from Vin's building?" Buck asked, thinking he recognized the name.

"Yeah, that's him. I saw him last night, after I got back from Boulder, at the church. He said he saw two men helping Vin yesterday afternoon," he explained and, noting their blank expressions, added, "After the accident."

"What accident? What men?" Chris snapped, frustration and confusion adding an angry edge to his voice.

The tone surprised Josiah, but all three men looked tired and haggard, so he just continued, saying, "Chavez said he saw two white men he didn't know helping Vin into their car. He asked them if he could help, since he knew Vin, and they said no. One of them told him Vin had hit his head while he was working on his Jeep, and they were taking him to the hospital to be checked out. I tried calling you last night," he said, speaking directly to Larabee, "but I couldn't reach you, or Buck, or JD."

"Because we've been here all night," the ladies' man explained. He held up his cell phone. "Battery went dead."

"Didn't bring mine," JD added, looking more than a little chagrined.

"And Ezra and Nathan are both out of town for the weekend," Buck said and sighed. "Sorry, Josiah, we should've called you, but I thought that shindig up in Boulder was supposed to run through Sunday evening."

"I decided to skip the last lecture. They were doing the homeless requiem at St. Philips last night so I decided to drive back for that. That's where I ran into Mr. Chavez."

Before they could continue, the elevator dinged again and Lt. Adams joined them. He flashed Chris and Buck a smile. "What's this about you losing one of your agents?" he asked Larabee.

Chris cut him off with a glare. "This is serious, Kenny."

"Hey, sorry," the man apologized, noting the grave looks and the anxious air that clung to the four men in the office.

"It's like this," JD began, his voice picking up speed with each word. "Vin's missing, and there were two men who put him in a car to take him to a hospital, but there's no one in any of the local hospitals that fits Vin's description, and—"

Adams held up his hand to stop the younger man. "Whoa, easy, son," he said. "Now, tell me again what's going on – _slowly_."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A sudden blinding light assaulted his eyes, blinding him and stabbing into his skull like glass daggers. Vin cried out, trying to turn his head away, but there was no escape.

Hands had rudely jerked his blindfold off, exposing him to the attack.

Tanner ground his watering eyes shut, trying to block out the unaccustomed brightness of the spotlights trained on him.

The same hands hauled him roughly to his feet, and he stood, swaying unsteadily from the drugs still coursing through his system. They left him hyper-sensitive to sensations – light was brighter, sounds louder, a touch closer to a punch.

A moment later, he felt the air rushing from his lungs after fists pounded violently into his midsection. The unexpected blow, and the resulting explosion of pain in his midsection, dropped him to his knees, where the contact of his skin with the cold cement floor sent a new wave of blistering pain shooting up through his body.

He tried to hold back the scream, but it tore past his tight throat and broke free.

"You are a most spirited sacrifice, Vincent… most spirited indeed. I can see him, you know. I can see him. He's there… living under your skin. I can see him… watching me. I have to destroy him, Vincent… I have to. If I don't, I'll never free her, and I must free her. I must… Beauty, my pure, perfect Beauty."

Someone grabbed him, jerking him to his feet again. Vin tried to jerk out of their hold, but he was too weak, too disorientated.

The fists struck once more, and he went down for a second time. His eyes cracked open slightly, but the light was too bright. It cut his eyeballs and all he could see were vague, dark shapes moving around him.

Struggling to his feet on his own this time, Vin attempted to fight back, lowering his head and charging, but the lights, the drugs, and the continuing attacks kept him ineffective.

Anger and frustration mounted as he went down, again and again, wrapped in a cocoon of searing agony.

"What th' hell d' y' want?" he yelled.

"I want to destroy him," came the answer. "I want to free her… free her. And I _will_ free her, Vincent. I _will_ free her. She will be mine. I must make her mine."

The attack continued until Tanner lay on the cold cement floor, barely conscious, the man's voice filtering past the drug-induced pain.

"This is only the beginning, Vincent… yes, just the beginning. He is strong there, under your skin. He fights me. But he cannot protect her… He cannot protect her forever. I will kill him, and then I shall have her. You are the doorway, Vincent… You will show me the path to the Chosen One, and then He will come and bring her to me."

"Go t' hell," he wheezed.

"My sweet, sweet Sarah. It has been so long. But Beauty is perfect now, is it not? One touch is a blow… one thin cut, a stab. This is only the beginning, Vincent… only the beginning."

And it was the beginning, of days spent in a fog of gripping cold and agony. Vin was kept under control by the drug, and the occasional use of a Taser whenever the voice needed him to scream and scream. The blindfold remained on unless he was held under the spotlights, the brightness cutting into his eyes and skull like lasers and forcing him to beg for it to stop.

In the silence and the darkness, in what felt like hours of unending pain, the room began to close in on him, wearing on his already frazzled nerves. He hated enclosed spaces, hated being confined. It made it almost impossible for him to breathe.

He couldn't stop some part of himself from withdrawing from the pain, the horror. He fled inward to hide, to gather his resources in an effort to survive the next session. And, in the process, his hope he might be rescued began to fade. He wondered how close to breaking the next encounter with the voice would carry him.

Too close, he knew.

A part of him knew it must be Seiler who had him, knew this was what Chris must have endured at the man's hands, but knowing did nothing to help him escape. There was no escape. Pain was the only sure thing in his existence now, and it came in many forms, but it came, again and again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"I am an artist, you know…" came the voice; Seiler's voice.

Vin decided he hated the man's voice, hated the crazy sing-song tone, hated the way the words seldom made any sense; hated everything about them.

"I am an artist, Vincent. I use pain like lesser men use paint. You, Vincent, you shall lead me to the Chosen One… to Christopher. I must have him. I must. Only then can I can free her. Oh, my sweet, sweet Sarah. Without the Chosen One I cannot summon Him. He shall bring my sweet Sarah back to me. She is Beauty, perfection… she is my life, Vincent."

"Sarah's dead," he managed to croak out.

"But _I_ am the Gatekeeper! I shall open the gates of Death, and _He_ shall bring her back to me! He will give her to me. Oh, Sarah, sweet, sweet Sarah. She knew; she did. She saw the Truth. He shall come and give her back to me, and I shall make her His goddess. Truth and Beauty, united. But you fight me, Vincent, you delay my plans. Why are you fighting me? I cannot take Christopher from under your skin until you are broken!"

"Go t' hell," Vin rasped, trying not to listen to the raving madman. It hurt to listen, and the words made no sense. He gasped as the voice cut him again. It felt as if the blade bit all the way through his flesh to scrape along his bones. He could feel the warm rush of blood flowing over his skin. Did he still have skin?

"Why, Vincent? Why do you still fight me? Surely you don't believe they're coming for you, do you? Oh no, Vincent. No. They will not come. Only He will come. He will come with Sarah, my sweet, sweet Sarah."

The names swirled inside Vin's drugged mind… Vincent… Sarah… Christopher…

Chris…

But he'd killed Chris, hadn't he? Maybe he had, maybe he hadn't; it was hard to remember now.

Hadn't there been a funeral? They had seen a lawyer… Chris had given him the ranch. But he hadn't wanted it, hadn't deserved it. He'd killed Chris, shot him.

But hadn't Chris come back? He'd come back from the dead. He hated him now, couldn't hardly stand to be around him let alone touch him. Why?

 _He blames you_ , a voice inside his head told him. _You killed him._

No! He hadn't meant to hurt Chris! Chris was his friend, his best friend. Chris was his family. Chris had been his lover. He loved the man. He never would have hurt him, not on purpose.

_He won't look for you, Vincent. He hates you. You killed him._

Some of Vin's carefully built defenses began to crumble. "Chris?" he moaned hoarsely. "Chris… didn't mean t'… didn't want t' hurt ya…"

He _had_ killed Chris, hadn't he? He could remember shooting, remember Chris falling off a boat, remember the face of death in the living room…

"Chris… no… didn't mean t' hurt ya… didn't mean t'… please… Chris…"

A smile spread slowly over Seiler's lips and he whispered excitedly, "Yes! Yes, of course! Of course! It's beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Artistic, so artistic… Yes, Vincent, yes, tell me what to do. Tell me how to reach Christopher. Soon, Sarah, soon I will hold you in my arms. Soon, my sweet, sweet Sarah…"

Seiler touched the Taser to Vin's nude shoulder and the agent screamed. The madman closed his eyes, an expression of pure bliss on his face.

"Chris!" Vin cried. "No! I didn't mean t' kill ya. Please, Chris… please."

Seiler stood, rocking from side to side, his mouth open, basking in the sound of Vin begging for forgiveness. Oh, yes, Christopher was living under Vincent's skin, and he was moving closer to the surface. Soon, it would all be over. Soon. He knew he had to hurry. He had to finish the paintings this time.

"Yes… Yes, I see… I see."

He opened his eyes and picked up his paints, continuing his work on the hideous demonic face that took up an entire wall of the room Vin was being held in.

For his part, Vin curled up into a ball, rocking slightly and moaning, begging Chris to forgive him.

Someone pulled the blindfold off and he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, but no light attacked his eyes. He opened them a crack, but the only thing he could see in the dimly lit room was a demon staring down at him, staring down at him with the face of his one-time friend. Chris' face… The face of the man he had killed.

"No… Chris, 'm sorry… 'm sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry." The litany continued as he felt the knife sink into his flesh again. He whimpered, but he didn't cry out. The pain no longer mattered. He had killed Chris, and that pain hurt worse than anything the voice could do to him.

Or so he thought until he felt the cold liquid being poured over the cuts. A moment later his flesh was on fire. The pain swelled in a flash of blinding intensity and he screamed. Chris was punishing him. He looked up at the face of the man and knew he was punishing him. And he deserved it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**Wednesday, November 9 th, 1999**

**6:10 p.m.**

 

Chris paced in his living room, the pressure of his barely-held-in-check emotions fighting for release. _Three days. No word, no sign. Where the hell are you, Vin? I feel so goddamn helpless!_

The others sat, scattered around the room, watching Larabee pace and wishing there was something they could do or say to help ease the pain their friend was going through. They could all clearly remember a time, not so very long ago, when it had been Vin who had paced these same floors, lost in deep self-recrimination over Chris' supposed death.

The doorbell rang, bringing Larabee to an abrupt stop.

Realizing that his friend couldn't force himself to the front door, Buck stood and walked over to answer it. He checked the peep hole. Outside, a young girl stood, dressed in the uniform of a local delivery service, waiting in the cold.

"Hi," she said when he opened the door. "Are you Mr. Larabee?"

"I'm Larabee," Chris called, coming up to stand behind Buck.

"I have a package for you, Mr. Larabee, but you'll have to sign for it," she said, holding up a small, flat box wrapped in brown paper.

Chris stepped around Buck and accepted the clipboard and a pen from the girl, signing where she indicated. When he was done she handed over the box with a winning smile and took back the clipboard and pen. "Thank you."

Fishing a couple of dollars out of his wallet, Buck handed them to her.

"Thanks," she responded. "Have a nice evening."

Chris didn't even bother to smile as he turned away and walked back to the living room. Buck wished her a good night and then closed the door and locked it before rejoining the others in the living room.

The others moved closer as Larabee sat down on the sofa to examine the package. It was addressed to "Christopher Larabee," on a typed label. There was no return address included, but the delivery slip indicated that Denver was the package's place of origin.

"Might want to have that x-rayed before you open it," Nathan suggested, looking worried.

"I agree," Ezra added. "Seiler is still out there, and he might make another attempt to kill you."

"Seiler only kills up close and personal," Larabee replied softly, staring at the label. No one called him Christopher except his parents – who did not live in Denver – and Robert Seiler.

Chris frowned as he carefully unwrapped the package to find a small white gift box inside.

They all watched with avid curiosity as Chris slowly lifted the box lid. The blood immediately drained from the blond's face and his hands began to shake.

Inside the box was a zip-lock baggie holding a wallet Chris had seen before, many times before. Vin's wallet.

"Wait," Nathan said when Chris reached out to remove the plastic bag. He hurried to the first aid kit in the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying a pair of latex gloves, which Larabee pulled on before he gingerly lifted the baggie out of the box and laid it on the coffee table.

Holding the baggie by one corner, he studied the worn leather wallet as if he expected it to speak. A thin film of moisture coated the inside of the plastic as well.

"Hand me a pen," Chris said, his voice nothing more than a scratchy whisper.

Ezra reached in and removed one from the inside pocket of his suit coat, handing it over.

Using the point of the pen, Chris carefully opened the plastic bag, the malodorous odor of picante wafting out as he did.

Larabee was immediately transported back to the time he had spent as Seiler's prisoner: the razor blades, the picante juice, the pain, and Seiler, dabbing his paintbrush into the resulting blood. The image of the painting, the demon who was supposed to turn pain to beauty, death to life, sprang into his mind and he swayed on his feet.

Robert Seiler had Vin. He had Vin, and he was torturing him.

Chris' ears began to roar, and bright white and yellow spots exploded in front of his eyes. The baggie slipped from his suddenly-numb fingers, the contents spilling out onto the top of the coffee table: the wallet, the juice, and a single blood-stained razor.

Larabee lunged off the sofa and bolted down the hallway for his bathroom. He dropped to his knees, just beating the remains of his meager dinner as they raced up his throat. He slumped over the bowl limply, his stomach contracting until it was empty, and after, scenes of pain and fear swimming through his mind.

Some time later, the touch of a reassuring hand on his back told him someone had followed him into the bathroom. Then he felt a damp washcloth being pressed to his forehead, and another draped over the back of his neck. When his empty stomach finally stopped trying to climb up his throat he opened his eyes. Nathan was there with him.

"You okay?" the former medic asked, his expression a mix of worry and sorrow.

Larabee shook his head, his entire body beginning to shake uncontrollably. God, he knew exactly what Vin was going through, but why? Seiler couldn't possibly think he could bring Sarah back using Vin, could he?

He snorted and shook his head again. Hell, maybe he could. He could think anything he wanted to. The man was a fucking lunatic.

"Think you can stand up?" Nathan asked him.

Chris had his doubts, but he still nodded. His first attempt was a complete failure. But, a moment later, Buck was there with Nathan and they were helping him to his feet, guiding him to his bedroom.

"No…" he managed, struggling weakly in their grasps. "…have to find Vin."

"Chris, you're not in any condition to go anywhere," Nathan told him sternly. "You need to get some rest – right now – or you're going to end up back in the hospital."

"We'll keep looking," Buck assured him. "You know we will, stud."

"Seiler," Larabee managed, a wave of lightheadedness making it hard to concentrate, to think. "Seiler has Vin. God, Buck… he has _Vin_."

Buck and Nathan exchanged worried glances as they felt Larabee begin to shake like he might just come apart.

 _Shock_ , Jackson mouthed silently to the ladies' man.

Buck nodded, understanding.

Together they got Chris into his bed and covered him up. "I'll stay here with Chris," Nathan said softly. "You and the others get that stuff over to Forensics."

Buck nodded, but it was obvious he didn't want to go, too worried about his friend.

"He'll be okay," Nathan promised. "If I have to, I've got an IV in my big kit. I'm hoping he'll sleep an hour or so and then I can get some juice and some food into him."

"He hasn't been eating much," Buck said on a sigh.

"Yeah, just like Vin," Nathan commented, shaking his head. "You cut one, the other one bleeds."

"We've gotta find him," Buck said, the words no more than a whisper. "If that maniac kills Vin, it'll kill Chris, too."

Nathan nodded. He understood the reality of the situation as well as Buck did. After all, they had just watched Vin slowly killing himself when he'd thought he'd killed Chris. It would be no different with Larabee. "Go on. The sooner they get that stuff, the sooner we might be able to find Vin."

Buck pulled his shoulders back and nodded, determination in his dark blue eyes. He glanced once at Chris, saying, "You take good care of him."

"Do my best," was Jackson's reply.

"Ya always do, Nathan," Buck told him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	10. Death Strikes Twice 3

The knock was soft, but Seiler heard it. He stopped painting and crossed the small room, halting in front of the door. He turned and looked back down at Vin, who lay curled up in a nearby corner. "Vincent," he called softly, "time to wake up now. Christopher is here."

"Chris…?" Tanner mewed softly. "Chris…"

Seiler smiled and turned back to the door, opening it. Outside stood a tall, well-built blond man around thirty-five years old. He smiled a little nervously, green eyes meeting Seiler's.

"Yes, you're the one," the madman said quietly. "Most definitely the one. He sent you to me. I knew He would. My almost-Christopher. Almost…"

"Chris…" Tanner whimpered, rocking a little faster.

The blond man's smile faded and his expression turned wary as he got a good look at the inside of the room, and at the naked man lying curled up on the floor, covered with small cuts and other injuries he couldn't identify. He had been warned about Seiler when he'd approached his usual dealer, asking if he could get hold of some Beauty for him. UpDog had told him the guy selling Beauty was crazy, but Gatekeeper was the only one who knew how to make the shit, and it was the most popular club drug out there at the moment. He needed to stock up if he was going to keep his rich customers happy.

It had taken him some time, but he'd finally scored some of the pills from Tio, Gatekeeper's lackey. And it had been Tio who had called him earlier that day, promising him a thousand pills, if he'd come pretend to be some guy named "Christopher."

Whatever. He just wanted the damn drugs, and the sooner the better. He had big plans for the upcoming weekend.

"Come in, Christopher, come in. Let me introduce you to Vincent…"

Don Humphries glanced over at the huddled form in the corner again. It was hard to tell much about the guy beyond the fact that he was filthy, cut and covered with dried blood. His longish brown hair was limp and matted and he was naked, still lying curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn up as close to his chest as the man could get them. He was rocking with short, jerky movements, his eyes open, but unseeing.

"Tio promised me a thousand pops of Beauty," he said.

"Yes, I know. But first I need your help. Vincent needs Christopher to purge him."

"Purge?" the club owner repeated, glancing around at the weird paintings on the walls. The Gatekeeper was as crazy as he'd heard, maybe worse.

"Oh yes… You shall give Vincent a tour… a tour of his very own living Hell." Seiler laughed.

Humphries couldn't stop the shudder that sound evoked. He wanted to leave, right now. But he needed those pills. He could sell them for a hundred dollars apiece, easy – maybe more. He couldn't walk away from that kind of money. "What do you want me to do?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, November 10 th, 1999**

**7:10 a.m.**

 

Josiah sat down across from Chris at Larabee's kitchen table, watching as the blond continued to stare into his empty coffee cup. He could see the man's muscles were corded with tension, trembling beneath his T-shirt.

He stood and moved his chair quietly, shifting it closer to his friend. He sat down again and slipped his arm around Chris' shoulders, feeling him flinch away slightly from the touch. But he didn't move, didn't look away from the empty coffee cup. He just whispered, "Leave me alone, Josiah."

"I can't do that, Chris." Sanchez knew his friend wasn't the demonstrative sort, but right now it was perfectly clear to the profiler that Larabee needed a hug, and by God he was going to give the man one whether he wanted it or not.

They sat like that, Josiah with his arm around Chris' shoulders, neither man speaking for several minutes. Then, finally, Larabee turned tear-filled eyes to the profiler and moaned softly, "I know what he's doing to him, Josiah. I _know_. Seiler's going to kill him. To get to _me_ , he's going to kill him. He'll see it all as part of his twisted fantasy to bring Sar—" He nearly choked on his wife's name. "He thinks he can bring her back to life." All the pent-up emotions from the past few days, from the time since he had woken in the hospital really, finally overwhelmed him, and once the tears began to fall, he couldn't call them back, or stop them.

Josiah gathered his friend into his arms and held him like he would a child, offering words of encouragement and holding him while he cried himself out.

Later, they went out to the living room where they sat together, Larabee finally talking to the profiler, telling him what he'd endured at Seiler's hands while the others continued their hunt for any signs of Seiler or Vin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

JD drove himself relentlessly, checking and double-checking any computer he had access to, or could find access to, legally or not. Ezra worked the streets, calling in favors from everyone he could think of. Nathan followed up on the drug angle, meeting with DEA, DPD, clinic doctors, community groups and others, trying to find the source of Beauty. Buck split his time between the ranch and Larabee and his own contacts, which were more numerous than anyone had suspected.

But no leads surfaced over the course of the day.

Now that Larabee had started to talk, Josiah had remained with Chris, listening, consoling, and making sure the blond stayed away from both alcohol and firearms as the gruesome story emerged over the course of the day.

Josiah also tried to get the man to eat, but he had little success. What few bites Larabee did manage at breakfast, lunch, and dinner weren't enough to sustain him, but he knew they would have to do until they located Vin.

 _If_ they located Vin, Sanchez thought. Having heard the story now, he was afraid Larabee's initial reaction might be correct. Seiler might have already killed Vin because, somehow, he knew by doing so he would kill Chris. And if he couldn't kill Larabee himself, this was the next best thing. But he couldn't tell Chris that. He couldn't allow the man to give up any more than he'd been able to let Vin give up.

Not that any of them would be able to stop Chris from doing just that if they found Tanner's body.

He sighed softly, watching Larabee as he napped on one of the sofas. He wished there was something more he could do to help Chris, or to help find Vin, but there wasn't. The others were doing everything possible.

He shivered despite the warmth the heater and fireplace spilled into the room. Robert Seiler was insane, and there was no way to predict what he might do to Vin, what he might have already done.

Josiah suspected that Tanner had survived an abusive childhood, but he couldn't be sure. Vin never talked about past. Well, except for a few comments about his time in the Army, or chasing bounties before he'd joined the Marshal's Service, and even those were generally vague.

He couldn't help but wonder that, if they managed to find Vin, whether they would find the same man who had come to mean so much to all of them, especially Chris. He didn't really understand the relationship between Chris and Vin, but it didn't matter. Vin had become special to _all_ of them, cementing them together as a team, and as a family.

Vin was their heart, their spirit, and Josiah wasn't at all sure they could survive losing him. He knew for a fact that Larabee couldn't.

Somehow, Vin had given Chris back his life, his will to fully live again. Not just to exist or survive, day to day, but to really live again – to care, to laugh, to feel again. It was a very special gift, from a very special soul, one both ages older than his years, and yet somehow still touched by a child-like innocence the rest of them had lost, even JD, who was certainly the most innocent of them all.

He'd tried to put the realization into words before, while he'd watched Vin slowly killing himself when he'd thought Chris was dead, but he hadn't been able to manage it. Now he wasn't sure he would ever be able to manage it.

There was just something special about Vin, something that seemed to touch everyone he met in a slightly different way. But it meant the same to all of them.

 _He has a pure heart_ , Josiah decided. _His spirit's pure. As if it couldn't be touched or tainted by all the bad I know that boy's seen. It's a miracle, our miracle, and by God we'd better get him back…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, November 10 th, 1999**

**11:10 p.m.**

 

When Larabee fell silent, Josiah pushed himself off the sofa and stretched before walking over to where Larabee now sat in his recliner. He reached out, resting his hand on Larabee's shoulder and saying, "Come on, Chris, let's get some sleep, okay? We're both worthless to Vin like this."

Larabee shook his head.

"Chris, you've been at this on and off all day. You need to rest."

"I can't. Not 'til we find him, Josiah," he whispered. "He's dying… I can— I can feel it."

Sanchez wanted to ask how he knew that, but he didn't. He did, however, believe him. "Chris, please, just a few hours. I'll wake you up if anyone calls or comes over."

"Can't," Larabee said. "The dreams. I can't see that. I don't want to see what Seiler's doing to him."

"Chris, you're exhausted. The dreams won't come back tonight," Josiah told him, praying he was right. He needed to see if Chris kept any sleep aids in the house. That should help ensure the dreams stayed away. "Chris, do you want to help Vin?"

Chris nodded, his eyes hollow and haunted

"Then you need to get some sleep. We'll start fresh again in the morning."

That seemed to get through to the man and he stood, allowing himself to be put to bed by the older man.

Josiah left Larabee lying in his bed and went to the bathroom, finding some Unisom in the bathroom medicine cabinet. He poked two through the foil, then went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He carried it and the pills back to the bedroom. Larabee was already out.

He set the water and the pills on the nightstand and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Pausing in the hallway, he scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed heavily.

_Lord, keep Your eye on these two, will You? They're going to need whatever help You can give them. We all are. But, please, Lord, don't let this madman take Vin from us. We need him, we all need him, but You know how much Chris needs him. Please, Lord, hold Vin in Your hand until we can find him… for Chris._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Gray… The world had become a foggy gray veil. He couldn't see past it, but he tried, especially when a man who looked like Chris entered his cell and stood, staring down at him. It was hard to make out the man's features through his one good eye that was half-swollen, but his other eye was puffed completely closed.

"See Vincent, Christopher is here… but what has he done to you?" the voice asked him.

"Chris," he managed to gasp, the movement of his lips breaking open one of the crusted splits once again. He could taste the resulting blood, he but ignored it, trying to figure out how Chris had gotten here. And what was he saying?

"…worthless piece of shit…"

Why wasn't Chris helping him?

Oh, yeah. He'd killed him. He couldn't help him. But the voice had brought him back, and he was pissed.

Pissed that he'd killed him.

The walls of the small room seemed to close in on Vin as the voice continued to speak, and Chris continued to hurt him. He shook his head, unwilling to believe what he thought the voice was saying. Chris had given him to Seiler? Why?

"No," he managed to spit out, "don't believe ya."

"Why?" the voice asked him. "Vincent, see what he has let me do to you? He was going to help me… help me bring Sarah back, but you stopped him."

"No," Vin moaned. He hadn't stopped him, had he? He'd killed Chris.

No, he'd couldn't have killed Chris. Chris was mad at him…

Because he'd killed him?

It was too confusing, and it hurt too much to try and decipher the truth.

But what followed became a living hell for Vin. Unable to accept that Chris could ever hurt him like this, he couldn't deny the pain that wracked his body. The situation threatened to overwhelm him, and the island that had been his refuge shrank as he lost both hope, and the desire to live with the pain and the confusion. But some part of him could not surrender, and that part fought ferociously to survive. It walled itself up somewhere deep inside Vin's mind, watching, waiting for a chance to escape.

And, slowly, the room and the voice and Chris dissolved into a peaceful grey void that transported him to a place of rest. The pain could not touch him here.

He recognized the place. He'd been here before, when he was a child, and it felt familiar, good even. He was safe here, he knew he was. Nothing could touch him now, no one could hurt him. He was safe at last. All he had to do was stay here and wait, although for what, he wasn't quite sure.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Strong, so strong, my Vincent," Seiler said, rocking back and forth as he stood over Tanner's body. "He is worthy of her… truly, he is. Christopher has no idea what he has in you, Vincent. You, Vincent, walk in Beauty…"

He dabbed his paintbrush into the blood pooling in the hollow of Vin's throat, then turned to the paintings that covered all the walls now. He put the finishing touches on the demon's face and then moved to the next wall, studying it for a moment.

The painting there was almost as hideous as the demon, but it was a portrait of Chris Larabee, his arms outstretched, his head flung back in what looked like a primal scream. His legs appeared to have been broken, and he was falling to the ground, which was made up of row upon row of sharp, shark-like teeth. From the center of Larabee's chest a human arm had broken through his flesh and was grasping for something. The expression on the painted Larabee's face was one of raw, overwhelming pain.

Seiler paused, turned, dabbed his brush into the blood again and then turned back to add a few last strokes to the suffering Larabee. He stepped back, admiring his work, which was stunning, if deeply disturbing. If you looked closely, you could see something moving under the painted Larabee's skin, something alive… something that was trying to escape.

Seiler smiled rapturously and moved on to the third wall. Here the demon from the first wall was descending from a black pit in a storm-roiling sky. In his arms he carried a nude woman. It was Sarah, his sweet, sweet Sarah.

She appeared to be sleeping, her thick, reddish-blond hair falling over the demon's arm. Her eyes were closed, her face showing nothing but peace. She was perfection. She was Beauty.

Seiler knew there was nothing he could add to that painting. It was complete, perfect, just as it was.

The madman moved to stand over Vin's unconscious body. "So strong, Vincent, but He will break you… my master. He can break anyone, even if He has to kill you. He shall kill you, slowly, perfectly…"

He turned then, looking at the fourth wall, the painting there just beginning to be filled in. Sarah was standing, her arms flung out as if she wanted to rush out of the surface of the wall and embrace him. Behind her was Chris Larabee, or at least his skin, looking as if it had been shed by some human-shaped snake. He was being blown away from her by some unseen wind that was carrying him toward the waiting demon's open mouth. Christopher would be devoured, the final sacrifice to give his beautiful, perfect Sarah life once more.

And then she would open her eyes. She would step out of the painting and into the room. His sweet, sweet Sarah would finally be his. Perfect Beauty would be his.

But _only_ if Larabee suffered and died. Yes, only then. And to kill Larabee he knew he had to destroy the bond that existed between Christopher and Vincent.

"Read about this, man," Tio said. He was standing next to Tanner, nudging him with the toe of his shoe like he was checking a road kill to see if it was alive or not. "In 'Nam and places where they torture prisoners; some guys'll die before they break. This one guy said he saw it happen. Another guy flipped out and flopped around like some kind 'a fish, then he died, but he never broke."

"Oh, yes, Tio, he will die. When He says it is time," Seiler said, turning to look at Tanner once more. "But Vincent is only a tool. He will bring about the death of the Chosen One. My master must have the Chosen One. Only then will He give me my Beauty. My beautiful, sweet Sarah… perfection."

"Whatever you say, man," the young man replied, shaking his head. Seiler was a bigger fruit-loop than he'd ever guessed. The man talked crazy, walked crazy, _was_ crazy, but his drugs were real enough. And the packets of Beauty he was getting from Seiler sold like candy on the streets. "Think he might be dead already, man."

"No, not dead," Seiler said, leaning over and beginning to paint on the floor. "Vincent is hiding." He continued to work, occasionally stopping to add strokes of Tanner's blood to the images taking shape around the unconscious man. "Vincent… come out, come out wherever you are," he chanted. "Come out, come out, wherever you are. We see you. You can't hide from us. I paint Truth! I paint Beauty! I paint your future! You will live, Vincent. Oh, yes, you will live. You will live long enough for Christopher to find you. The poisoned pill. He will see you and swallow you through his eyes. The eyes are only portals, you know," he said, looking up at Tio. "Portals to the soul."

"Yeah, whatever, man."

"So blind, so blind," Seiler said, shaking his head sadly. "But no matter, I paint your future as well. Leave me!" he snapped.

"Yeah, whatever you want, but I need some more Beauty. Humphries and a couple 'a other guys are asking for more."

Seiler shook his head, disgusted with the young man's greed. "Tell Humphries to come back tomorrow. He must finish preparing Vincent. I will make you more of the Beauty today."

"You work him over again and he's gonna be dead," Tio said.

"You want my Beauty, you will tell him to be here!"

"Yeah, fine, man, no problem." Tio looked down at Vin, giving the man a swift kick in the ribs before turning to leave. "Fuckin' fruit bar," he muttered on his way out.

Seiler went back to his painting, filling the floor around Tanner with the images from inside his head, mumbling the entire time. From time to time he tried to rouse Tanner, but Vin remained hidden in whatever world he had built for himself, safe from the pain and the confusion.

It didn't matter to Seiler. He blew more Beauty up Tanner's nose and danced over the still drying images, laughing and clapping his hands.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	11. Death Strikes Twice 4

Vin stayed in his safe place, listening to the distant sounds of the demon who prowled the edges of his sanctuary, trying to find a way in. But he knew the creature wouldn't find a way. Others had tried, and they had all failed. He was safe. But there was another, someone Vin thought he might know, who also prowled the edges as well.

"Do you hate me, Vin? You left me here! You left me here to die! Now it's your time to die!" the shadow screamed at him.

Seiler flipped a switch, sending current into Tanner's body at several well-chosen sites.

The only answer the shadow received was a strangled scream, but Vin didn't know he was making the sound. He was crouched in his safe place.

Why was the shadow hurting him? Did he know him? It didn't make any sense, but then little had for a long, long time it seemed.

He must have done something to the shadow. He must have hurt him.

Vin could make out other shadows as well, shadows of… _things_ moving around the edges of his safe place –the demon, the blond man, and the beautiful woman.

This was all happening because of her, her and the blond man. But he wasn't sure who they were, or why they were important any more. He couldn't really think at all, although he thought maybe he might have known how at one time. But whenever he tried to remember, his brain started to hurt so bad he had to take it out and throw it away.

But that seemed to attract the monster and the demon, like sharks coming to the scent of chum. It was better if he didn't think, then he wouldn't have to take his brains out and toss them away again…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, November 12 th, 1999**

**9:37 a.m.**

 

Vin lay in the back of a car, his teeth chattering, his body shaking. Seiler had finally decided Vincent was properly "prepared." The time had come to return him to the Chosen One. Vin only knew he was being moved somehow. He lay on his side, watching, waiting, unable to remember who he was, where he was, or what had happened to him. All he knew was he was in terrible danger and he had to escape – _now_ – before the monster or the demon or something worse found him again.

The driver slowed as they approached a red light.

 _Now or never_ , Vin thought as he slowly drew both knees up to his chest. He thrust his feet savagely into a man's side, grabbing for the door handle at the same time.

"Grab him!" Seiler screamed at Tio.

Vin fumbled, the handle slipping out of his damp grasp on his first try to open it.

The young Hispanic reached for Vin, gasping as the agent kicked him again, then managed to fumble the door open.

Crawling out of the car and onto the street, Vin tried to stand, using the car stopped alongside them as a support. The driver yelled at him, but Vin ignored the man, managing to pull himself upright. He started away in a weaving half-run.

Tio exited the car and started to draw the revolver he carried in his waistband.

"Stop!" Seiler hissed at him. "Let Vincent go. We cannot afford the attention."

"What if the cops pick him up, man?"

"Then Christopher will have him, and the Chosen One will come after me, just as I planned. I will be waiting for the Chosen One. He is the key now, the key to getting my sweet, sweet Sarah back. He will come to me… come to me… come to me…" he said, chanting the phrase over and over as Tio climbed back into the car, the people behind them honking their horns as the light turned green and they hadn't moved yet.

Seiler drove away, smiling. His poisoned pill would be delivered, he had no doubt of that.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A short while later**

 

Vin staggered drunkenly down the sidewalk, disoriented and confused. People quickly moved to clear a path for him, shooting furtive glances at the battered, filthy man as he passed by them.

Exhausted, Tanner finally stopped, leaning up against the front of a building, his eyes closed as he fought to catch his breath. Where the hell was he? Where the hell was he supposed to go?

A hand closed on Vin's shoulder and the man's eyes flew open. Panicked, he started to bolt, but his body refused to follow the mental command to flee and he collapsed at a policeman's feet. The officer stood over him, a questioning look on his face.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**10:41 a.m.**

 

Chris was obsessed. Once he knew that Seiler had Vin, he had risen each day before dawn, scouring the city for any signs of the madman. The others had spent the same time in equally unproductive searches.

And, with each day the haunted look that shadowed Chris' eyes grew deeper, darker, and the others grew more and more concerned for him. If Vin died, they knew they would have to follow all of the same precautions they had employed when Seiler had held Chris and Vin had nearly given up. It wasn't something they were looking forward to.

          "Anything?" Chris asked, and Buck looked up, surprised he hadn't heard the man enter the office. He shook his head.

"Me, neither," Chris sighed, disgusted with himself.

The phone rang and both men jumped. Two worried gazes fastened on the instrument. Chris finally answered it on the fourth ring.

"Chris?" It was Ezra.

"Yeah, Ezra, what do you have?" was the man's tired response.

"You'd better get over to Summit Hospital," Standish said, his voice completely serious. "And, Chris?"

"Yeah?" Larabee asked in a whisper.

"Make it fast. There might not be much time."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11:39 a.m.**

 

"No!" Vin screamed, fighting with what strength he could find. "No! Stop! Chris! Stop! Don't hurt—" The sentence was cut short by a half-stifled growling scream that twisted out of Vin's tortured body.

Several orderlies were trying to hold the man down on a stretcher while two nurses secured him with restraints, but it wasn't easy. Tanner fought like a wild animal, kicking, clawing, and biting. Two of the orderlies were sporting bloodied lips and one a bloody nose. One of the nurses had been bitten.

When he was at last safely subdued, the orderlies quickly moved away.

Vin stopped fighting, but his body continued to jerk and shudder uncontrollably. "Why?" he moaned, over and over. "Why, Chris? Why?"

He threw his ample strength against the restraints, fighting to break free until, finally, it seemed that unconsciousness stilled him.

Through most of it Chris had stood outside the emergency room, watching the horrendous spectacle, unable to force himself to walk away, or to go in and try to help. Buck, on the other hand, had taken one look at Vin's battered body and listened to one scream, then fled to the blessed quiet of the waiting room.

Chris knew he should go with the man, that he should be there for Buck and the others, who had been his support throughout the days of waiting, but he couldn't force his feet to move. He looked down at his fists, which were clenched into tight balls at his sides. He really should _do_ something.

Vin began to move again, weakly at first, but quickly picking up steam, fighting harder and harder within the restraints. Then he screamed again. It was like nothing Larabee had ever heard before – raw, wild, primal. There was little that one could call human in the terrible sound.

And this time, unable to stand the noise any longer, Chris started for Tanner.

Two pairs of hands caught him. "No, Mr. Larabee, please," came a soft yet forceful feminine voice, wrapped in an Irish accent.

"Come on, Chris, let's go talk," Ezra said. He was holding Chris by the shoulders, blocking his way until he felt the man relax. Then, resting his hand lightly on Chris' back, he gently directed him away from Vin.

The consoling tone of Standish's voice surprised Chris, but he accepted it gratefully, allowing Ezra and the woman to lead him down the corridor of the hospital, past the waiting room, and into an office.

The petite woman in her mid- to late-50s walked around to sit at a large desk that occupied the center of the room. She nodded, and Ezra patted Chris on the shoulder, saying, "We'll be waiting for you when you're finished," and leaving quickly before Chris could respond.

"Mr. Larabee, I'm Fiona O'Neill," the woman said, her accented voice comforting and reassuring somehow. She motioned to the two leather chairs in front of her desk, saying, "Please, sit down."

Chris did as she had asked.

Dr. O'Neill peered intently at him and, sensing his discomfort, stood and moved around the desk to lean against it in front of him.

"How is he?" he asked quietly, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

"Not very good right now, I'm afraid," she replied truthfully. "He has been heavily drugged, beaten, and tortured. Mr. Standish tells me that Vin has been missing for the better part of a week?"

Larabee nodded and looked up, meeting her eyes. "What he was saying in there—" he began, but couldn't finish.

"We'll have to wait for the drugs to clear from his system before we know anything for sure, Mr. Larabee. Then we'll move forward from there."

"What can I do?" Chris asked in a whisper, his gaze shifting to the thick teal and tan carpet that covered the floor.

"Right now," she told him gently, "I'm afraid all we can do is wait for the drugs to clear his system. The lab is trying to determine what, exactly, he was given." She waited until Chris' chin rose and he was looking at her again. "We'll do everything we can to help him, I promise you. The road may appear long right now, but if we go slowly, and have patience, we might be able to get the same man back."

Chris nodded, tears filling his eyes. Dr. O'Neill stepped forward and sat down on the arm of the chair. She slipped her arm around his shoulder. "I spoke at great length to Mr. Standish," she told him. "He cares very much about you, and about Vin, although I do believe he would face wolves rather than admit it."

"Yeah, we all know he's a fraud," Chris said softly.

"He told me you had your own…" She paused, looking for the right word. "…encounter with the man who did this to Vin?" She felt Chris shiver in response, but he nodded. "Perhaps we could talk about that? It might help me to understand what Vin's been through, so I can better help him."

Chris looked up at the woman again and nodded. "I'd… I think I'd like to talk to someone. I haven't really been able to… to talk about it, not even with Vin… just Josiah. I— I know what happened to him."

She nodded, sensing that Larabee was ready to talk now. "Do you have some time now? The nurses will come tell us if anything changes with Mr. Tanner."

Chris hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded. He would rather talk with O'Neill than face his friends at the moment. Besides, there was something about the doctor that set him at ease, and it had been a hell of a long time since he had felt at ease.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, November 16 th, 1999**

 

Three days passed while they waited for the drugs to finally clear Vin's system. The lab technicians had been able to determine that Tanner had been given a particularly pure form of the new street drug called Beauty, but they had no way to counteract it. All they could do was wait for the drug to break down and be flushed from the man's body on its own timetable.

Chris remained at the hospital the entire time. He sat with Vin, talked to O'Neill in her office, or paced in the waiting room. The others came at regular intervals to wait with him, getting Chris to eat something or to nap, and spending the rest of their time in the continuing hunt for Seiler.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Fear. He was afraid, confused. Where was he? What was happening to him?

He could feel that the restraints holding him were padded, but they still held him firmly to a bed. The soft mattress, however, was a relief to his still-aching body, but it still felt strange, foreign. And that made him afraid. Were the monsters still out there, waiting for him?

He wasn't sure, so he stayed in his safe place and waited… and waited… and waited. But then he heard a voice, a familiar voice, and he couldn't resist it when it begged him to wake up. So Vin began the long journey back to consciousness, still unsure what he might face when he got there, but he knew he could trust that voice, the soft southern accents familiar and comforting.

That voice was telling him about… names… names he thought he might remember, but he wasn't sure. They felt… familiar… safe. Josiah… Nathan… Buck… JD… and Chris.

Why did that last name frighten him? And, at the same time, fill him with… longing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he couldn't help himself. He clung to the southern voice and followed it toward… Chris.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, November 17 th, 1999**

**12:56 a.m.**

 

He awoke sometime after midnight by his own estimate, and immediately recognized that he was in a hospital. His thoughts were still a twisted nest of confusion and loneliness. The southern voice was gone, and none had replaced it.

He glanced around the dark room, but it didn't appear anyone was there with him, and that struck him as odd somehow, but he wasn't sure why. He had been alone most of his life, he ought to be used to it, shouldn't he?

A name whispered through his mind… Chris.

He frowned slightly, memories beginning to edge into his awareness. Wasn't Chris dead?

No. No, Chris wasn't dead. He was alive. He'd been a prisoner. A prisoner of Seiler's, just like he had been.

Yes, he'd been a prisoner, like Chris.

Vin knew then that the drugs the madman had given him must finally be gone from his bloodstream, but their absence brought an unsettling edge to the reality he had to endure. He wouldn't be able to return to his safe place.

Other thoughts and images crowded in from the edges of his awareness, but he fought them back, unable to face the horror they carried with them right now. He felt too fragile to try, like he was a pane of shattered glass and the slightest of breezes might send the pieces tumbling apart.

He wished someone was there, though. Why was he alone? When one of them was hurt, the others came together, they sat vigil until the injured man awoke, so he didn't have to wake up alone.

But he was alone.

Had they abandoned him? Had Seiler killed them? He started to tremble, and jerked at the restraints. Where were they? Why weren't they here?

But they weren't there. He was alone. Maybe they had given up on him. Maybe they didn't know he was here. Maybe they did, but they didn't care any more.

But he could remember a voice; Ezra's voice. Ezra had been there, talking to him, telling him he had to come back to them, that they all needed him… especially Chris. Had they all been lies? He didn't think Ezra would lie to him. He didn't think any of them would lie to him. He trusted them. But they weren't here. They'd left him alone.

God, he didn't want to be alone again. He was so tired of being alone. But he was alone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**9 a.m.**

 

Chris entered the too-familiar waiting room and headed straight for the complementary coffee waiting in one corner of the room. He had just poured himself a cup when he heard Dr. O'Neill say, "He's awake."

He turned to face her, the coffee sloshing over his hand, but he didn't even feel it. He set the cup down, the coffee instantly forgotten. "How is he?"

"I'm going to go see now," she said, turning and heading off down the hall.

Chris fell into step beside her. "When?"

"He woke up last night. Ezra had stepped out to get some coffee. Dr. Kramer went in to check on him and sent Mr. Standish home, to give Vin a chance to get his bearings."

Larabee frowned. "You mean he was alone when he woke up?"

She nodded. "Dr. Kramer wanted to give him some time to let his thoughts settle."

"But we _never_ let someone wake up alone."

She stopped, her eyes meeting his. "Oh dear. That may have been a mistake then."

Chris swallowed hard. "Vin—"

"We'll make it right," she promised him.

But Chris wondered if they could.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The sound of the door to his room opening startled Vin and he tried to lift his hand in order to wipe away his tears, but the restraints effectively held him back.

Dr. O'Neill smiled as she reached the bedside and saw him. If he could cry, it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd first feared. "Hello, Vin. I am Dr. Fiona O'Neill."

Vin nodded, his embarrassment peaking as she took a tissue from the box sitting on the bedside stand and wiped away his tears for him.

Through a large one-way observation window Chris watched as Dr. O'Neill released Vin from the restraints, saying, "I don't think we'll need these any more, will we?"

Tanner shook his head. "Must've really been out of it," he replied quietly, his voice raspier than usual.

"Yes, I'm afraid you were," she agreed as she began to examine him. "But that's all over now; the drugs are gone from your system."

Chris winced when he saw Vin begin to tremble under the doctor's gentle touch. Knowing he needed to tell the others Vin was awake, Larabee fished his cell phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed the office. Josiah picked up on the first ring.

_"Sanchez."_

"He's awake."

_"We're on the way."_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**9:37 a.m.**

 

The others hurried up to join Chris at the observation window, their expressions excited and happy.

Buck slapped Chris on the back, asking "He's really awake?"

Larabee nodded.

"That's great, just great," JD said, grinning. "Can we see him?"

"I don't know," Chris said, but he was unable to stop the small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Fiona told me to wait here." He glanced back at Vin, who looked like nothing more than a frightened boy at the moment.

Seeing the worry in Larabee's expression, Josiah told him softly, "We'll get him back, Chris, just like we got you back."

The blond nodded, but he said softly, "I'm just… scared, I guess."

"Scared?" Nathan repeated. "Why, did the doctor say something?"

"No, it's nothing she said."

"Then why?" Josiah asked him.

"I— I don't know," Larabee replied, watching as Dr. O'Neill continued her examination. "Something changed between Vin and I – before this – and I don't know if I can fix it."

"You can," Buck told him. "Stud, the two of you are cut from the same cloth."

"I hope you're right," Chris replied softly.

"Hell, I'm always right, haven't you figured that out by now?" Buck asked him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

 

**9:58 a.m.**

 

"Sorry," Vin whispered as he jerked away from Dr. O'Neill's probing once again.

She smiled and stopped, giving him a break from all the poking and prodding.

A short while later, taking his hand in hers she told him, "Don't be sorry, Vin, you're doing fine. It's going to take time, but we have it. You should be ready to go home in five, maybe six days from the looks of things."

He liked the sound of her voice, and the feel of her touch, which was gentle and sure. And, suddenly, Vin was flooded with the need to be close, to know that something other than pain could come from the touch of another's hand. But he didn't know this woman. Where were his friends? Where was Chris?

Tears filled his eyes again, but he held them in check. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he acting like this? It was like his emotions were completely out of control, and he hated feeling out of control.

"I know there's someone here who would like to see you, several of them by now, I'd imagine; are you feeling up to it?"

Vin felt the twin surges of fear and hope pounding through his heart. He nodded and whispered, "Yeah, 'm up t' it."

She rose and started for the door.

"Doc?"

She stopped and turned. "Yes, Vin?"

He shook his head. He was a little afraid to face his friends, but he wasn't at all sure why, and he didn't really want to tell her that.

"They'll be in shortly. You just rest for a few minutes."

He nodded, trying once again to corral his emotions, which felt like a herd of wild mustangs in his chest right now.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 


	12. Death Strikes Twice 5

**10:00 a.m.**

 

"I can't go in there. Not yet," Chris said when he heard the doctor's final comment to Vin before she left the room.

JD shot Buck a confused look, but the ladies' man just shook his head.

"Whenever you're ready, Chris," Josiah said, his gaze sweeping over the others to let them know they had better not argue with him.

Dr. O'Neill opened the door. "Fifteen minutes total," she told them. "Go in as pairs, all right?"

Nathan and Josiah agreed to go first, for five minutes. Buck and JD would follow them, and Chris and Ezra would be last.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Hey, Vin, how are you doing?" Jackson asked as they stepped into the room.

"Good to see you, son," Josiah added as they reached the side of Vin's bed.

Vin studied them as if he wasn't quite sure he remembered them, but then he seemed to recall their faces and a small smile appeared on his lips. "Have a seat, boys. I won't bite y', I promise."

"We know that," Nathan said, a little embarrassed. He sat down in the chair that was already sitting next to the bed.

Josiah remained standing, but he reached out and rested his hand lightly on Vin's blanket-covered leg. "You had us all worried, you know that, don't you? How do you feel?"

Vin gave them a small smile, whispering, "I've felt better, but don't tell the Doc, okay? She might extend m' sentence."

Nathan and Josiah both grinned, relief flooding through them at the sound of the Vin Tanner they knew so well. But the words seemed forced to both men, and they exchanged questioning glances, each trying to decide if Tanner was really okay or not.

"The others want to come see you, too," Nathan told him. "Will that be okay?"

Vin nodded. "Sure."

"We don’t want to tire you out," Jackson told him. "So if it gets to be too much, you just say so, okay?"

Vin nodded. "Y' find Seiler?"

"Not yet," Josiah told him. "But we're still working on it. How did you escape?"

"Didn't," Vin replied, then frowned slightly. "Maybe I did. Was in a car. I got out. I— I don't really remember."

"That's all right," Josiah assured him. "Don't worry about it, Vin. The important thing is that you're back, and you're going to be fine."

The two men promised to return later, then left, Buck and JD almost immediately replacing them.

Buck walked right over and patted Vin's shoulder, asking, "How are ya doing, Junior?"

"Reckon I'll live," Tanner replied. "Y' think y' can find the controls on this bed an' raise me up? 'M gettin' tired 'a starin' at the ceiling."

"Sure," Wilmington said, grateful to have something to do. He quickly located the necessary buttons and soon had Vin raised up to a nearly seated position. "How's that?"

"Good, thanks," Vin responded, watching as the nervousness began to set in again. "Guess I had y'all pretty worried, huh? Sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," JD told him.

"But, we were worried… especially Chris," Buck added. "I guess I was just sort of… numb."

"Yeah," Vin said softly as he studied the ladies' man.   "Reckon y' done this more 'n enough, huh?"

Wilmington nodded. "Between the two of you…"

Vin watched him. _Never meant t' hurt ya, Bucklin. Never meant t' take your place with Chris, neither, but it just… hell, I don't even know what Chris an' I are now… friends or_ "something else."

"Sorry, I missed that," Buck said, looking at JD, who shrugged, not having been able to make out the comment either.

"Ain't nothin'," Vin replied, smiling weakly at his friends.

JD grinned. "Hey, think we should try smuggling in a pizza for you? I don't know about you, but I hate hospital food."

"Yeah, me, too," Vin said, although they all knew he hated hospital food. They all did.

"Good idea," Buck said, feeling a little anxious. Vin wasn't acting quite like Vin. "Maybe we could—"

"Uh, Buck," JD interrupted, nodding toward the door.

The ladies' man looked. Ezra was standing there, tapping his watch. He turned back to Vin. "Okay, look, we'll go come up with a plan, okay?"

Vin nodded, wishing this was over. The two men left – fled, really – and Ezra came in to take their place. Tanner sighed softly when the first thing out of the undercover man's mouth was: "So, how are you feeling?"

How was it that he'd wanted someone here just a few minutes ago, and now he just wanted to be left alone? "Feel fine," he replied tiredly.

"Vin, can you tell me how they got hold of you?"

Tanner blinked. How had Seiler gotten him? He wasn't sure he remembered…

"What's the last thing you remember before Seiler?" Ezra asked him.

Vin thought for a moment. "I was checkin' out the Jeep… Two men, said they's FBI showed, lookin' for Chris… One of 'em shot me… with a dart."

"Do you remember what they look like? What they were driving?"

Tanner looked up and met Standish's eyes. He smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Good, Vin, that's very good."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"He's a strong one," Dr. O'Neill said as she looked away from Vin and Ezra.

Chris was watching the pair as well, a concerned look on his face. "But he's acting like nothing's happened to him. How can he do that? That's not normal, is it?"

"Didn't you tell me you did the same thing?" she asked him.

Larabee shot a glare at the woman, but then he huffed out his breath and nodded. "Yeah," he admitted tightly, "I guess I did."

"You should go in," Dr. O'Neill told him, catching the fleeting expression of fear that crossed Chris' face in reaction to the comment.

"Are you sure? I mean, after what he was saying when they brought him in…" He trailed off.

"Given the history you told me, no matter what happened, I think he would want to see you, don't you? It might hurt him more if you didn't."

"But—" He stopped and shoved his fingers through his hair, then sighed tiredly. "What do I say to him?"

"What would you normally say?"

Larabee shot her a chagrined look. "Probably the same thing the rest of them did: I'd ask him how he's doing."

"Well, that's a place to start," she told him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Well," Ezra said reluctantly, "the doctor has set a limit on how long we can stay I'm afraid."

"Thanks for comin'," Vin said.

Standish frowned. "Of course I came. You don't honestly think we wouldn't come to see you, do you?"

Vin wasn't sure how to answer that. Right now he didn't feel like he knew much of anything. "Uh, yeah, sure, I know."

"And we'll all come by again to see you later today," the well-dressed man said as he stood. "I want to see what we can do with what you've told me."

"'Kay," Vin replied, his voice sounding very much like a lost child's.

Not knowing what else to say, Ezra leaned over and gave the healing man a quick hug.

Vin grimaced slightly when he felt the pressure on his bruised back, but he reciprocated the action willingly.

"It is very good to have you back, Vin," Ezra said softly.

"Good t' be back," Vin responded, his voice nearly breaking. He didn't want to let go, but he knew he had to.

Ezra released him and left quickly so the tears that had finally escaped his eyes could not be seen.

Vin watched him go, then closed his own eyes and drew a deep breath. He heard the door open and, expecting Dr. O'Neill, he didn't bother to open them.

"Vin?" Chris' voice was a soft whisper, testing to see if his friend slept or not.

Vin's eyes flew open and he looked up at his best friend, his former lover, relieved and frightened at the same time. He looked away, not knowing what to say or to do. He was confused, his emotions erupting into chaos.

 _Come on, Vin_ , Chris urged him silently, _say something._ He reached out, intending to rest his hand on Tanner's shoulder.

Instinct took over, Vin blocking Larabee's hand away, some part of his mind remembering the treatment he had endured at the hands of Chris' look-alike. A flash of nearly uncontrollable rage followed, frightening Vin with its intensity.

Chris took a step back when he saw the brief wave of hatred that passed through Vin's eyes. _God, Vin,_ he thought, _what did they do to you? What did_ I _do?_

Regret and embarrassment instantly registered on Tanner's face. "Chris, I'm sorry," he mumbled, shrugging weakly and looking away again. _Aw hell…_

"It's okay," Chris told him flatly, but he didn't repeat the action. Instead, he sat down on the chair.

"The others were just here," Vin commented idly, at a loss as to what to say or do.

"Yeah, I know," Chris replied, effectively ending the conversation.

 _What's wrong with me?_ Vin wondered. _Why'd I do that? Chris is m' friend… Isn't he?_ But there was a part of Vin that had no answer to that question, and that scared him – badly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Dr. O'Neill and the others watched the uncomfortable exchange between Chris and Vin. It was painfully obvious that both men were hesitant around one another, neither knowing what, if any, lines had been drawn by the other. And neither seemed willing to take the initiative to find out.

She frowned and shook her head.

"Someone ought to go rescue them," Josiah said softly.

Dr. O'Neill nodded and headed for the room, her entrance freeing the pair from the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

Chris immediately pushed to his feet upon seeing her. "Oh, sorry, Doctor. Let me get out of your way," he told her, quickly heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vin. Uh, get some rest, okay?" he finished as he fled the room.

Vin watched him go with an expression approaching anguish on his face.

"You both just need some time," Dr. O'Neill said softly.

"Y' think seein' me brought back some bad memories?" Vin asked her in a near whisper.

"Perhaps, but right now we have to worry about you, all right? Chris will come around. Now, would you tell me what you remember?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *

 

**11:43 a.m.**

 

"I can't believe I was so _stupid_ ," Chris muttered while a silent Buck Wilmington sat, watching him.

Chris continued to pace in his office, softly lambasting himself until the ladies' man couldn't take any more. "Damn it, Chris, would you listen to yourself!" he said determinedly.

The man's tone stopped Chris in mid-stride. When the blond turned to look disbelievingly at Buck, the ladies' man continued. "Yeah, you screwed up. It happens. But Vin's our friend; he needs our help. We've got to forget about everything else and deal with that."

Chris hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, feeling a little ashamed of himself. "You're right," he admitted. "But I have no idea what to do. I get around him and I… freeze up. Seems like everything I do is wrong."

"You don't have to _do_ anything, Chris. Just be there for him, like he was for you."

Larabee nodded, more than a little ashamed of himself. Vin _had_ been there for him. He was there every day at the hospital, even when Chris started pushing him away. Vin had never complained, and never got short with him, even when Chris had deserved it. And he'd tried his best to get Chris to talk about what had happened to him, but Chris had stubbornly refused.

Now he wished he had talked to Vin about it. Maybe that would have better prepared him to deal with Seiler and his ideas about raising people from the dead.

But the whole thing had hit just a little too close to the carefully buried pain he'd nursed since Sarah and Adam had died. The pain of their loss, the emptiness it had created in his heart was never that far from the surface. Or at least it hadn't been, until he'd met Tanner.

Something about the friendship he shared with Vin had healed a part of him – a part he'd never believed could be healed. Chris still wasn't sure how or why it had happened, he just knew that it had. And, in a way he didn't quite understand, he resented Vin for that. He resented the fact he couldn't mourn like he had before he knew the man.

And how crazy was that? He wanted to hold on to pain?

But he did, because that pain had kept Sarah and Adam closer to him.

But did it? What if he was wrong? What if letting go and sharing them, sharing his pain with Vin would actually bring them closer than the grief had?

He'd thought about that before, especially after they'd become lovers. Even considered opening up to Vin, but he'd never done it. Why?

Because Vin had never opened up with him? But had he really given the man a chance? He wasn't sure.

They seemed so comfortable in the silence, like just being there for each other was enough. But now he wasn't sure it really was.

And then Seiler had returned, ranting about bringing Sarah back from the dead, and Chris had retreated back into that dark place he'd occupied before Tanner had entered his life. And he'd been trying to push Vin away ever since…

God, he was such a fool.

"I'm not sure I'm the one who can help him," he finally said out loud.

"Chris, you're the only one who understands what he's been through," Buck told him.

"But I fucked this up so bad already. After my abduction, I never let Vin back in, not really. I was trying to hold on to the pain, like it would bring them back."

Wilmington nodded. "Yeah, I know."

It was the sad tone of the man's voice that caught Chris' attention and he looked up, meeting Buck's eyes. "What?"

The ladies' man shrugged. "Nothing."

"Tell me," Chris said, hoping it hadn't sounded too much like he was snapping at the man. "I really want to know. I—"

"I just recognized it, that's all. What you were doing to Vin."

It took Chris a moment, but the pieces fell into place. "Because that's how I treated you after Sarah and Adam were killed."

Wilmington nodded. "Don't figure either of us deserved it, but I can understand why it happened. And I'd be willing to bet he can too."

That colored Larabee's cheeks with shame. "Buck, I—"

"I know you didn't mean to, Chris. If I hadn't known that, I wouldn't have hung around to get abused."

"I was that bad?"

Buck thought for a moment, then shrugged and nodded at the same time. "Yeah."

Chris looked down at the floor and shook his head. "And I've been just as bad to Vin –worse, really."

"Can't really say," Buck commented softly. "I just know that boy was hurting – _bad_ – when we all thought you were dead. To be honest? I didn't think we'd be able to keep him from eating his gun…"

That brought Chris' head up. "What?"

Buck leaned back on the small sofa in the room and folded his arms over his chest. "He was in a bad way, Chris. You weren't in any condition to see it while you were in the hospital, but he'd damn near killed himself, would have, if you hadn't showed up."

"Shit," Larabee sighed. He wanted to argue with the man, but he couldn't. He'd seen just how close Vin had come to killing himself. He and Vin had only known each other for nine months when Landry Whitesides had grabbed him for Seiler. But he'd felt the same instant, deep connection with Tanner that Vin had with him. And that closeness had quickly evolved from friend to brother to lover. "All right, I understand why…"

"Yeah, you do," Buck scolded him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Figured you had enough on your plate," Buck told him. "Once we had you back, Vin straightened right up. He started eating, sleeping; he was taking care of himself again… so he could take care of you."

"But I wouldn't let him."

Wilmington nodded. "The Larabee stubborn streak makes that damn near impossible, but that boy's got a helluva lot more patience than I did. And I'm guessing he figured you out a little quicker than I did, too."

"Figured me out?"

Buck offered his friend a wry smile, not sure he was going to appreciate hearing the truth. "I think he knew you were pushing him away because you were afraid you might lose him, too."

That took Larabee by surprise, but he couldn't deny it. It was true. Instead, he leaned back against his desk and ran his hands over his hair, sighing loudly. "How do I fix this?"

          "I don't know for sure. He's gonna have to deal with whatever happened to him, but you know what that was, or at least you have a better idea than the rest of us. Just… be there for him when he's ready to talk. Show him you care."

          "Sounds easy."

          "Yeah, I know. And I also know – from experience – it's the hardest damn thing in the world to do. You care about somebody, you want to make it easier for 'em, you want to help them, but they're gonna go at their own pace… And all you can do is just be there, and pray it all works out."

          Chris met Buck's eyes. "Guess this is coming a little late, but… thanks."

          That brought an honest smile to Wilmington's face. "You're welcome."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, November 22 nd, 1999**

**10 a.m.**

 

"I want you to open up to him," Dr. O'Neill told Vin on the day of his release.

The past several days in the hospital had left Vin more than ready to leave, as he had reminded Dr. O'Neill again and again over the last three days. And aside from the emotional scars, which they couldn't treat with drugs or physical therapy, Vin was ready to be released. And she was sure home would be the best medicine for him now, and she wanted him there as soon as possible.

The faster the seven men all returned to their regular lives, the faster they would all heal emotionally.

"I'll try," he said. "Ain't so easy. Chris is kind 'a… unsociable, y' know?"

"Yes, but I have talked to him, and he wants to help you, but I think he will need you to make the first move," she concluded as the door burst open and several of the ATF agents charged in, closely followed by a nurse.

Buck was carrying a large, steaming pizza box, JD a huge soda, and Josiah an armload of clothes. Nathan and Ezra each had a couple of plastic shopping bags that they used to empty the various drawers in the room, gathering up all of Tanner's belongings. Chris hung back, just watching.

"Doctor?" the nurse asked as she stared pointedly at the pizza box.

"It's all right," Dr. O'Neill said, walking over to Wilmington and lifting the lid to look inside. "Mr. Tanner's leaving, and he'll be eating his lunch on the way home," she said, tapping the lid for emphasis.

The nurse smiled as the agents assumed chastised looks. Once the nurse left, Dr. O'Neill lifted the lid again and helped herself to a slice of the pizza. The men watched with smiles as she ate it with obvious relish, licking her fingers when she finished.

"I have some forms that need to be signed, and a prescription to be picked up," she said. "If one of you will come with me, we will get Vin out of here before the rest of that pizza gets cold."

"I'll go," Nathan volunteered as Josiah tossed the clothes onto the bed.

"And I'll go pull the Ram around to the curb," the profiler added.

"We can go get the prescription," JD volunteered, setting the soda on the bedside table and grabbing Buck by the arm.

"Yeah, sure," the ladies' man agreed, sliding the pizza down next to the soda.

"And I shall hunt down a wheelchair," Ezra announced.

"All right, gentlemen, follow me," Dr. O'Neill directed, helping herself to a second slice of pizza on her way out.

Vin watched them go, shaking his head. Reaching down, he threw back the covers and carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Faded bruises were still obvious on his exposed thighs and he moved with a slow deliberation. Grabbing the jeans from the pile, he pulled them on and stood. Socks followed, then he sat back down to rest and pull on his tennis shoes.

"Need any help?" Chris asked when Vin winced as he stood again.

"Naw, thanks, I've got it," he said, turning around to grab the long-sleeve T-shirt off the bed. Anxiety about returning to "normal" ate at the sniper as he pulled his hospital gown off.

Chris couldn't help but look. Tanner's back was covered with bruises and thin cut marks in various stages of healing. The same small burn marks that had covered his own back and chest now stood out on Vin's tanned skin as well. He swallowed rapidly and sat down, a distant roar assaulting his ears.

 _God, that's worse than what Seiler did to me_ , he thought. _Christ, why can't I talk to you? Why can't I tell you what I'm feeling? I love you, Vin, but I can't seem to say it. And I don't know why_.

Vin wrestled the T-shirt over his head, the nagging feeling he and Chris had lost the comfortable familiarity they'd shared since they'd met tugging at him. Turning around as he gingerly pulled the shirt down, he looked at Chris, finding him sitting down and looking very pale.

 _Aw hell, I forgot what m' back must look like_ , he thought. _Not t' mention m' chest_ , he added, looking down at what was still uncovered, only to find it in a similar condition. _Damn it! When am I gonna stop hurtin' him? Stupid, stupid, stupid. No wonder he don't want t' be 'round me no more._

          Not sure what to do or to say, Vin reached for the thick flannel shirt Josiah had brought for him and pulled that on, too. That just left a hooded sweatshirt, but he decided not to pull that on just yet.

          "Chris?" he called softly.

          "Huh?" Larabee asked, blinking and shaking his head as if to clear it.

          "Y' okay?" Vin asked. "Didn't mean t'—"

          "Yeah, I'm fine," Larabee interrupted, pushing to his feet. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

          "Uh, sure," Vin said, watching as his friend hurried out of the room. He grabbed the sweatshirt and followed after him, pizza and soda forgotten.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ezra and Dr. O'Neill were standing at the nurses' station when Chris and Vin left the room.

"Please, have a seat," Dr. O'Neill said to Vin, motioning to the wheelchair that waited at the station.

"I will even drive," Ezra volunteered.

Vin swallowed his protests and sat down.

"Be careful," Dr. O'Neill called after them as they started off down the hall.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The drive back to Larabee's ranch was made in silence, Vin's mood sinking lower than Chris' before they had reached the house. But as he climbed out of the truck, Vin's mood lightened slightly. Chris headed straight inside, muttering about a headache as he left Vin standing on the deck.

Vin spent several long minutes standing out there on the deck, basking in the beauty of the scenery. He had missed the sight of the mountains and the open land that ran right up to the base of the foothills. Larabee's place was perfectly situated to take advantage of location and view.

And it was good to know that it was no longer his responsibility. He could come out now and visit just like the others, enjoying the beauty and the quiet without needing to worry about all the details.

At least he hoped he could. The way Chris had been acting, he wasn't sure the blond would want him coming around any more than was absolutely necessary.

Well, he could live with that, so long as he could come out to take Peso for a ride whenever he wanted. If not, he'd have to move the horse to a boarding stable someplace. That would eat into his paycheck, but he could make adjustments.

"Vin?" Josiah called softly when he found the man leaning against the deck rail, staring out at the mountains.

"Hey, J'siah?" he responded without looking at the man.

"Any idea what's wrong with Chris?" he asked. "He was excited about you coming home earlier…"

Vin turned to face the profiler. "I don't know; guess it's m' fault. Think maybe he's tryin' t' forget, but I keep remindin' him 'bout his time with Seiler." He turned away again, adding in a whisper, "Afraid 'm gonna lose the best friend I ever had, J'siah, an' I can't seem t' do nothin' t' stop it."

The big profiler stepped up alongside Vin, who shifted slightly so he was leaning up against the man. A moment later, Josiah's arm wrapped around Vin's shoulders.

"I have a hunch it's more than a bet friend you feel you're losing, isn't it?" the older man asked quietly.

          Vin nodded. He and Chris hadn't told the others about their sexual relationship, but now that it was over Vin just didn't care if they knew, one way or the other.

"You're both still healing, Vin. Just give it time."

Tanner nodded again, but he was already pretty sure time had run out for him and Chris. But then good things rarely lasted for very long in his experience. Why had he thought this would be any different?

"Please, Vin, don't give up," Josiah said.

"Tryin' not to, but…" He couldn't finish.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**4 p.m.**

 

After the others had left, both Chris and Vin had retreated to their bedrooms, each man napping for several hours. Then they got up, showered and dressed, meeting the others for an early dinner at a local steakhouse not far from Larabee's ranch.

As they waited for their meals to arrive, the others brought Chris and Vin up to date on the state of the search for Seiler.

"So, allow me to sum this all up, gentlemen," Ezra said. "Nothing, we have nothing that can lead us to Robert Seiler. How is that possible? This man isn't a master criminal."

"No, he's just insane," Josiah told him. "And he's got the formula for a drug everybody wants inside his head."

"So the dealers must be protecting him," JD concluded.

"They might be," Standish replied, "if they are making enough from the Beauty to justify the danger."

Chris was unusually quiet throughout the meal, and the conversation, offering little direction to their ongoing investigation. Afterward, the men walked out to the parking lot, each enjoying the quiet, cool evening. A small sense of the closeness they usually shared crept back as they moved slowly toward the end of the lot where they had all parked, the pace accommodating Vin's still-healing, stiff muscles.

It was dark, and Vin cleared his throat as they reached the vehicles, saying, "Just wanted t' tell y'all that it's good t' be home." When no one responded, he continued, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Never realized how much all this meant t' me. How much y'all mean." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "'M not real good at sayin' what I feel… aw, hell, just wanted y'all t' know—"

Gunfire interrupted.

The seven men broke apart, each diving for the nearest available cover.

"Vin!" Chris called without thinking as he peered around the front grill of the Ram.

"Yeah," Vin called back, his head rising slightly above the large wooden sign boasting the best steaks in Colorado.

"Buck?" Chris called.

"Me and JD are over here," came Wilmington's voice from the rear doorway of the restaurant.

"J'siah?"

"Nathan and I are fine," came the profiler's voice. It sounded like he and Jackson were crouched down between the Ram and Buck's Trans Am.

"Gentlemen, I do believe someone's trying to kill us," Standish commented dryly.

"What was your first clue?" Nathan asked him.

Chris bolted across the intervening space, joining Vin, two shots following him. He slid in behind the sign and Vin grabbed hold of him to keep him from sliding back out into the open.

"Must be usin' night scopes," Vin commented, having seen one muzzle flash. "One of 'em is over by the road, maybe in a car."

"Seiler?" Chris asked him.

"Pissed off anyone else recently?" Vin growled in reply.

The sound of an approaching siren echoed along the quiet road, followed closely by the sound of squealing tires as their assailants fled. The seven men waited until the sheriff's unit pulled into the parking lot before they ventured out from their cover, each taking stock of the others to be sure everyone was all right.

Vin felt a rush of anger sweep over him and his blue eyes flashed.

"Lighten up," Chris said, reaching out to rest his hand on the man's shoulder only to have Tanner flinch away.

"I'll lighten up when I have that sonuvabitch in m' sights," Vin snapped angrily.

"Only if you beat me to it," Chris countered.

"He's _mine_ ," Vin snarled, turning on his friend, his finger tapping against the blond's chest, blue eyes hard and cold. "Don't get in m' way, Larabee." With that he spun and stalked away into the darkness.

"Hey, just a minute!" called one of the deputies who had walked up in time to witness the heated exchange.

"Let him go," Chris told the deputy, pulling out his ID and letting the man get a good look at it. "I'll make sure Agent Tanner gives you a full statement in the morning."

The deputy studied Chris for a moment, then nodded. "I suppose that'll be all right since I can get all of yours now. What the hell just happened?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:17 p.m.**

 

Once the ATF agents had given their statements, they climbed into their vehicles and headed back to the ranch. Chris was alone in the Ram. He had asked the others to go home, but after the attack they were convinced Seiler was after him and Vin and they insisted on staying at the ranch, to provide security for the two of them.

_Damn it, Vin, why can't we pull this together? I know what you're going through, but you won't let me help you. I want this bastard as much as you do – more. Why can't we do this together?_

_Why can't you tell him you love him? It's not wrong._

The voice irritated him, and he tried to ignore it, but he couldn't.

_Are you afraid people won't understand? Is that going to make you hide your feelings the rest of your life?_

_Vin means more to me than anyone in my life since Sarah. I'd die for the man,_ he argued with himself.

_But you can't tell him that to save your life… or his._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:23 p.m.**

 

The house was dark when they returned, but they found Vin inside, already asleep on the bed in the guest room. He hadn't even bothered to take off his clothes and shoes, or crawl under the covers.

Chris grabbed a spare comforter from the hall closet and spread it over Vin while the others whispered their goodnights and headed to various spots to sleep on tiptoes.

With a sigh, Chris headed for his own room, climbing out of his clothes and crawling into his bed. The king-sized bed was too big and too empty without Vin there with him. All he really wanted right now was to hold Tanner close. He wanted to touch the man, make slow, sweet love to him, but he was pretty sure that was lost to him.

He lay, listening to the silence for a while before finally slipping off to sleep himself.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	13. Death Strikes Twice 6

**Tuesday, November 23 rd, 1999**

**2:23 a.m.**

 

_The voice was laughing, the sound echoing in the background as Vin struggled against the ropes holding him suspended off the cold cement floor. His shoulders and arms were burning from the strain of supporting his weight._

_Chris circled slowly around him, a malicious grin on his face. In his hand he held a revolver, the hammer pulled back._

_"Just one bullet, Vin," he said, the smile spreading wider. "But which chamber is it in?" He raised the gun, pointed it at Vin's abdomen, and pulled the trigger._

_Vin jumped involuntarily, pain clawing through his shoulders in response._

_Chris laughed. "Guess it's not that one. How about this one?" he asked, pointing the weapon at Vin's chest and pulling the trigger again._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"No!" Vin screamed, sitting up in the bed. "Chris, no!"

Larabee heard the cry where he lay sleeping in the next room. Without thinking he lunged out of bed to see what was wrong. He entered the guest room, heading straight for the bed.

As soon as he saw Larabee enter, Vin pushed off the bed to meet him. He slammed Chris back into the closet door with a vicious force, jarring the blond to the root of his toenails.

Seeing the hate and panic in Vin's eyes, Larabee froze. But when Vin's hands began to close around his throat, he reached up, grabbing Tanner's wrists and choking out, "Vin, it's me. Come on, it's _me_."

Chris watched as the expression of desperation was replaced by one of recognition, and then shame.

Vin released Chris' throat like his flesh was a hot iron, jerking his hands away and turning away. "'M sorry. I—" He broke off, heading for the door.

"Vin, wait!" Chris called after him.

"Back off, Larabee!" Vin replied as he stepped into the hallway. "Leave me th' hell alone!"

Unable to decide if he should follow Vin and stop him from leaving, Chris dropped down onto the guest bed and sighed. "Damn it," he breathed as Buck stepped into the room.

"Are you all right?" the ladies' man asked him.

Chris nodded.

"Is Vin?"

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I just don't know."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Vin found himself standing outside, looking at the parked vehicles. His Jeep wasn't among them. But then, he hadn't been able to get it over to Roberto. He huffed out a sigh and turned, walking to the barn. He ended up in Peso's stall, standing next to the confused horse, stroking his neck.

"You want to tell me what happened just now?"

Vin had heard Josiah approaching, but he wasn't sure he could talk to the man. He shook his head.

"Vin… You have to talk to someone, son."

Tanner hesitated, but then the words started to tumble out before he could stop them. "I could've killed him, J'siah! I almost killed him! What the hell's wrong with me?"

"Vin," Josiah said, coming into the stall and standing behind the younger man, his hands resting on Tanner's tension-knotted shoulders, "there's nothing wrong with you. You experienced something no one ever should. It leaves a—"

"I can't do this, J'siah. I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"Can't be 'round him. What if I hurt him?"

"Vin, I don't believe you'd ever hurt Chris, and neither does he."

"I did! J'siah, I—"

"He's fine."

Vin fell silent, his chin dropping to his chest. And no matter how hard Josiah tried, he couldn't get the man talking again. But he was able to talk Vin into going back to the house where he curled up in the guest bed again, exhausted, and immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**7:15 a.m.**

 

"The dreams might very well continue for some time," Dr. O'Neill told Josiah over the phone. "You should all encourage him to talk about them, but don't press too hard. And, Josiah?"

"Yes?"

"Do be careful," she added in a serious tone. "Vin might not have the control you would normally expect. He _is_ capable of hurting Chris, or you – any of you."

"I'll remember that," he told her, hanging up just as Vin staggered into the kitchen, looking tired and haggard despite several hours of sleep.

"You all right, Junior?" Buck asked the man.

"Fine," was the only answer Vin was willing to give and Wilmington let it suffice.

JD and Ezra returned a few minutes later carrying bagels and other pastries. Coffee was brewing, and as soon as it was finished, Nathan walked over to fill cups.

"Hey!" JD called from the Larabee's home office. "I think we found a lead on Seiler!"

Heads snapped up and the men pushed out of their seats.

"Well?" Chris prompted when they were crowded in behind Dunne.

"Okay," JD said, "after Vin told Ezra about the two men who grabbed him, I've been trying to find them. Last night while we were waiting to give our statements to the deputies, Ezra suggested I check and see if any cars like the one they were driving were returned to a rental agency on or about the day Vin disappeared. When I got back, I started a search. There were ten cars that matched the description Vin gave returned on the day of his abduction." JD paused, looking pleased with himself.

"What's the point, JD?" Vin demanded, rubbing his tired, red-rimmed eyes.

"One of the cars returned was rented on a company account – White Futures Industries, and guess who's on the board of directors?"

"Who?" Chris asked. "Don't tell me it's Seiler."

"Oh no," Ezra said, already digesting the information on the computer screen as rapidly as he could. "Otto Blitzer." He looked up at the other men. "That name ring any bells?"

"One of Benton Whitesides' business associates," Nathan identified.

"That's right," Ezra said.

"I did some checking, and the address given by the men who rented the car doesn't exist," JD said. "But I do have an address for the company, and it's here in Denver."

"Figures," Vin muttered, slumping into a chair.

"Why would Blitzer be involved with Seiler?" Buck asked. "I thought he and Whitesides were buddies."

"They are," Ezra told him. "But it appears from this that Blitzer might have an interest in Seiler as well, although I have no idea why. He's never sold drugs."

"What do we do now?" Buck asked, ready for action.

"I suppose we should—" Chris began, but Vin cut him off.

"Pay a call on White Futures Industries."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**9 a.m.**

 

A twelve-story glass-fronted building rose above them. Chris, Vin and Ezra stood just outside the main entrance, each dressed in business suits, Standish carrying a briefcase.

"Are you sure you're up to this, Vin?" Ezra asked, noting the fatigued look on the man's face.

"'M fine," was the short-tempered reply. "I'll be better when we nail the bastards who gave me t' Seiler."

"Let's get this over with," Chris said, giving up trying to break through the wall Vin had put up between them.

They entered the building, asked for directions to public relations, and then headed for the elevator and the fifth floor. The three strode into the office and converged on the secretary's desk. Standish sat his briefcase down with a thud, nearly spilling the coffee that sat on the woman's desk in an oriental mug.

"May I help you?" the young lady sitting behind the desk asked, clearly annoyed.

"I am Mr. Styles, with the firm of Styles, Lawson, and Tucker," Standish told her. When she registered no response, he continued, "These are my associates, Mr. Lawson…"

Chris nodded.

"…and Mr. Tucker."

Vin stared at her coldly.

"We've been retained by a local Enterprise Car Rental Service to obtain a reimbursement for damages two White Futures employees inflicted on a vehicle they rented using their company credit card."

"I see," was the uninterested reply.

"If we are not given full cooperation here today, we'll begin proceedings against this company," Chris added, his voice like ice.

"You'll need to speak to Mr. Dallaport," the secretary said. "Let me see if he's left for his meeting yet."

She reached for the phone on her desk and dialed. He was in, and once she repeated Ezra's story they were on their way up to the twelfth floor.

Mr. Dallaport did not look pleased to see them, but he invited them into his office and had them sit. "Now," he said, "what's the problem, gentlemen?"

"The problem, Mr. Dallaport," Chris said in a friendly yet business-like tone, "is that two employees from this company rented a car from our client and then returned it without reporting the damage they inflicted on the vehicle."

"And just who are we talking about here?" asked Dallaport, leaning back in his chair.

"That's what _we'd_ like to know," Ezra told him, taking over from Chris. "The men used a company credit card to rent the vehicle."

"We'll need their names for the reports, and to press charges, if that becomes necessary," Chris added.

Ezra handed the man a piece of paper with the credit card number penciled on it, then settled back into his chair, pleased with their performance thus far.

Dallaport scanned the number, then pressed the intercom button on his desk saying, "Candy, come in here and get a company credit card number. Find out who it belongs to, and who he was with when he rented a car…"

"On November sixth," Ezra supplied.

"On the sixth of this month."

"Yes, sir," came the crisp response. A few moments later the woman stepped in to take the number.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Otto Blitzer swung around in his padded chair to face the speaker box over which the three agents' voices drifted. He smiled. _So, you've made some connections, have you? Well, I guess you were smarter than I expected._

He glanced over at a young man saying, "Notify Seiler that they're getting closer. He needs to take care of this now."

The young man nodded and left.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

There was a knock on the door, immediately followed by the entrance of the same beautiful young woman who had come in to take the credit card number. She proceeded past the three agents and handed two folders to Dallaport.

"Here are the files you requested, sir," she said with an air of polished efficiency.

"Thank you, Candy," he told her and was rewarded with a perfect smile from the woman.

Candy then turned on her heel and exited, never once looking at the three men.

Dallaport flipped the files open. "Robert Lyons and Tom McMillan," he read out loud. "They're consultants we use to review local development sites."

Ezra wrote the names down in a small notebook, saying, "And can you tell us where we might locate Misters Lyons and McMillan so we can take their statements?"

"I'm afraid that they're both out of state at this time – Thanksgiving holiday," Dallaport said, closing the files.

"How convenient," Vin said sarcastically.

"If you'll submit a report detailing the damages to my secretary, I'll see to it the accounting office reimburses your client."

"Well, thank you for your cooperation," Ezra said, standing. "We'll do that."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blitzer waited until Dallaport sat down across from him before he spoke. "Charming little performance, don't you agree?"

"Do you think they bought my story that Lyons and McMillan are out of state for the holiday?"

"Unlikely," Blitzer answered. "Not that it matters. I've already sent word to Seiler to eliminate this distraction. I'm hoping Mr. McMillan will hurry him along; he's running an errand Seiler asked be done as we speak." He looked pointedly at Dallaport, his eyes shining. "And if Seiler doesn't take care of it, make sure Whitesides knows where he can find Seiler. Benton will be more than happy to eliminate the man responsible for the death of his son for us."

"And the ATF agents?"

"If they continue to pry into our business, we will have to deal with them ourselves."

"To be honest, sir, I think that might be the safer course of action. Seiler is…"

"Insane. Yes, I _am_ aware of that, Dallaport. But Seiler will serve a greater purpose, provided we can keep him on track long enough to get the formula from him. Mr. Lyons has given what he was able to glean from the man's ravings to our chemists, but they tell me there are some pieces missing."

"But our plans are still on track?"

Blitzer nodded. "Oh, yes. Project Millennium _will_ proceed, without or without this madman's drug. I am just hoping it will be with it, as I believe it will give us an overwhelming advantage."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The three ATF agents exited the elevator in step. From the corner of his eye Chris saw Vin stiffen and then bolt toward a closing door marked "Parking Garage."

"What the—?" he started to say. "Vin! Come on," he snapped at Standish.

In the garage, Vin caught up to a man, jerking him around and using the lapels of his designer business suit to toss him roughly onto the hood of the nearest car.

"All right, asshole," Tanner growled ominously, "where's your friend with the handshake?"

Chris and Ezra reached the pair in time to hear the man reply, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Vin—" Chris started.

"It's one 'a the bastards who popped me in the parkin' lot," he said angrily. "Wouldn't forget his face, or his buddy's."

"All right," Chris said reassuringly, "but we're drawing attention here." He nodded in the direction of the elevator, and a small group that had exited and were now standing, gaping at them.

A security guard brushed past the group and stalked toward them.

Vin jerked Lyons off the hood of the car and haphazardly brushed him off as the guard joined them.

"Some trouble here, Mr. Lyons?"

"No, Hank," the man said, glancing at Vin, "just a case of mistaken identity."

"I don't think so," Chris growled, extracting his ID and showing it to the security guard. "Mr. Lyons will be coming with us."

"Why?" the man demanded.

"We'll be more than happy to explain it to you – at the federal building," Ezra told him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**9:15 a.m.**

 

Hands fumbled with a prescription bottle, finally getting the lid off and pouring the contents into a black-gloved palm. The loose pills were placed in the jacket pocket of Vin's "friend with the handshake."

From that same pocket McMillan removed an envelope, pouring the contents into the now-empty prescription bottle.

Carefully replacing the bottle in the same spot where he had found it, McMillan left the bathroom and began a search of the house. He found what he was looking for in the guest bedroom.

After inserting a tracking device into a worn gym bag sitting in one corner of the room, he left the house just as he had come – unnoticed.

And, after resetting the alarm system to cover his entry, he went to his motorcycle and climbed on, heading straight back to Denver.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**6:15 p.m.**

 

Tanner stumbled, catching himself on the back of the plaid sofa.

"Vin, you all right?" Josiah asked as he entered the comfortable mountain cabin. The younger man was pale and still trying to regain his equilibrium.

"Yeah," Vin replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Reckon 'm just beat. Think I'll call it a day."

"Don't forget these," Chris reminded him, tossing his friend the prescription bottle they had picked up from the ranch house, along with the rest of their gear. Tanner had left the drugs sitting on the counter in the bathroom, but Larabee had seen them and slipped them into his pocket on his way out.

"Thanks," Vin grumbled as he caught the bottle. He turned and headed down the hallway to one of the three bedrooms in the safe house.

Reaching the bed, he sat down and stared at the bottle in his hand. He contemplated skipping the medication, but forced himself to get up and walk to the bathroom. He shook out two of the capsules and swallowed them with a gulp of water from the tap. He returned to the bedroom, changed, and climbed into the bed, falling almost immediately into a restless sleep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**6:40 p.m.**

 

          In the small kitchen, Josiah fixed a pot of coffee, he and Chris each pouring a cup and carrying it back to the living room.

Larabee sat down on the sofa, staring into the fire he had started earlier and sipping on his coffee.

"You think Lyons was telling us the truth?" Sanchez asked into the silence.

Chris thought for a moment and then nodded. "I don't see why he'd lie at this point. Mr. Chavez and Vin both identified him…"

"So Seiler was looking for you…" Josiah said, trailing off in the hopes of getting Larabee talking.

Chris' head dipped. "Yeah, but he found Vin instead."

"It doesn't sound like he's going to stop until he finds you."

"Which is exactly why I should be back in Denver, looking for the bastard, not hiding up here."

That prompted a small smile from Josiah. He knew that was exactly where Chris would have been, too, if AD Travis hadn't insisted that he join Vin in the safe house until Seiler could be found. The others would be following up on the leads Lyons had provided them. Hopefully, they would be able to run Seiler to ground and put an end to this in short order.

"To be honest," the profiler said, staring into his cup, "I think you did need to be here. I don't think Vin could survive you turning up dead a second time."

Chris sighed softly. "What makes a man snap like that?" he asked softly. "Seiler, I mean."

Sanchez considered the question for a moment, then replied, "Lots of theories, Chris, but we can't say for sure. Trauma, chemical imbalance, brain tumor, there's just no way to know for sure."

"He honestly thinks he can bring Sarah back to life…" Larabee shook his head, a soft derisive snort accompanying the gesture. "Hell, I guess there's a part of me that wants him to."

"That's understandable," Sanchez replied. "You loved her."

Larabee nodded. "Yeah, I did. Still do, I guess." He frowned, thinking for a moment, then glanced over at Josiah, asking, "Does it make a damn bit of sense if I say I was mad at Vin because Seiler used him to help bring her back?"

"Yes, it does."

Larabee looked back at the flames. "Makes me feel like a real bastard."

"Chris, you and Sarah obviously shared a very special kind of love, and when she died… It's natural for you to feel the way you're feeling. It's also natural for you to feel that anger, and to have pushed Vin away after Seiler had you. But you know as well as I do that it's better to have loved, and lost, than never to have loved at all."

"There are days I'd argue that with you, but, yeah, I guess it is. I can't imagine not doing it all again, even if I knew how it was going to turn out, but that's different than what's been going on with Vin and I."

"True. You let that boy inside your defenses," Josiah told him. "And then he almost got himself killed… like Sarah. It pissed you off. But we both know it wasn't his fault."

"Never said it was."

"No, but love isn't always rational."

"And I acted like I blamed him?"

"Chris, right now neither one of you is acting normally. And that's okay. Just give it a little time, and, when the time's right, _talk_ to each other. I know that's easier said than done, but it's got to be done. So when the time's right, talk."

Larabee nodded. "Sounds simple enough…"

"Yeah, well, sounding and doing are two very different things, my friend."

"Tell me about it," Larabee muttered. "I promised myself I wouldn't set myself up again… I wasn't going to let myself care about someone else enough to hurt like that if they—"

"Lots of us make that promise, Chris, and damn few can ever keep it. We're not supposed to. We're supposed to care… to love."

Chris started slightly, then glanced over at the big profiler. "He tell you?"

Josiah shook his head. "Figured it out all by myself."

Larabee cocked his head just far enough to meet the profiler's eyes again and grinned. "And with friends like these…"

"You're shit out of luck if you think you can keep from caring."

Chris nodded.

"Day after tomorrow," Josiah said, "it's Thanksgiving."

"Been thinking about that."

"Me, too. Been thinking we all have a helluva lot to be thankful for."

That sparked an honest smile from Larabee. "Amen to that, Josiah."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**9 p.m.**

 

Chris entered the dark bedroom to check on Vin, who appeared to be sleeping. But he was tossing restlessly, and his breathing was erratic.

_I hope the worst of your nightmares are over, Vin. God knows I still have them, but she was my wife. Losing her hurt me worse than what Seiler did to me._

_I wonder if you know that. There've been times when I wanted to talk to you about the nightmares; when I was healing up and you were there like some Uber-mother hen, but I couldn't. I don’t know why._

_I hope you can talk to me, Vin. Maybe then I'll be able to talk about mine, put the damn things behind me once and for all_ …

As Chris stood, lost in his thoughts, Vin moaned and twisted sharply, shoving back the blankets.

Stepping closer to the bed, Chris could make out the film of sweat covering Tanner's bare chest. _You running a fever?_

Reaching out, Larabee rested his hand on Tanner's forehead only to find the man's skin cold and clammy. A look of concern crossed his face.

Vin came up off the bed with a strangled scream, Chris catching his friend and easing him back down onto the bed.

Vin sat there, staring into space, his entire body shaking furiously.

Hearing Tanner choke back a sob, Chris sat down beside him and asked quietly, "Hey, you all right? Vin?"

Tanner didn't look at him, but he did shake his head, then, without warning, he broke into tears. Worried and confused, Chris' instincts took over and he gathered the trembling man into his arms, pulling Vin's head into his shoulder and rocking him as if he were a child.

The tears continued to fall and Chris rested his chin on Vin's head, whispering whatever words of comfort he could think of. In response, Vin's arms encircled him and he clung to Larabee for strength and reassurance.

After a while Vin managed to choke out, "I's seein' it all again. Back when I thought I'd killed y'…"

"Easy," Chris told him. "It'll get better, Vin, I promise."

"I saw y'… Y' were with Seiler… Y'—" He stopped, unable to tell the man that, in his dreams, it was Chris who tortured him.

"Talk to me, Vin, please," Chris urged him. "Maybe it'll help. If nothing else, we can face it together."

The sniper took a deep breath and pulled away from Chris, who stayed seated on the bed, but he respected the space Vin had placed between them.

"When Seiler had me," Tanner began hesitantly, "all I could think about was what you an' the others must be goin' through. I knew I had t' be strong; I had t' live or I'd let y'all down. I remembered what happened before, with you, an'…" He trailed off and Chris nodded his understanding.

"Kept me drugged up most the time, an' there was this guy… He looked like you, or maybe it was just the paintin'… It's hard t' know, but he… he hurt me."

Chris looked away and shuddered, well aware of the kind of pain Seiler could inflict. And it didn't really matter if Seiler had found someone who looked like him to do it, or if it was just the god-awful paintings.

"Reckon some part 'a me thought it was you… an' I hate that, but I just couldn't help it."

"It's not your fault, Vin," Chris said, trying to convince him. "It was the drugs, and Seiler's an expert at pain."

"The weird thing was, part 'a me kept waitin' for y' t' help me, waitin' for y' t' come get me," Vin added, his voice breaking.

"We tried to find you, Vin. We were out there looking every damn day," Chris told him, feeling like he had let Tanner down.

"I know. I know y' were. I know what it's like from that side too – been there, did that, an' it was hell… Just want these damn dreams t' stop."

Chris cleared his throat, willing the tightness to lessen enough so he could talk. "I don't know if they'll ever go away completely; mine sure as hell haven't. I don't think you can go through something like that without a few scars to show for it," he told him, reaching out to rest his hand on Vin's shoulder. "Sometimes I still dream I'm back there…"

Vin nodded, looking up at his best friend, tears shining in his eyes. "Could y' just hold me for a sec?" he whispered softly.

And Chris did, sliding into the bed and pulling Vin to him. He held the man tightly, fingers stroking through the long hair or rubbing the man's back. Before long he felt Vin's cock begin to swell where it was pressed against his thigh.

"M' sorry, m' sorry," Vin choked, trying to pull away, but Chris refused to let him.

"It's okay, Vin, it's okay. Please, hold still."

Vin stopped struggling, but his erection had shriveled. He trembled.

"Vin, I'm so sorry this had been so hard," Chris whispered, doing his best to help the younger man relax. "I love you, Vin. I know I haven't said that enough, but it's true. You have to believe that. I love you. I want you. I want us to have a life together, in all ways." He felt rather than heard Vin sob. He pulled the man closer, his hands saying in touch what he couldn't in words.

He touched the younger man, loving him, caressing, comforting… He didn't touch Vin's cock, but he didn't have to. The touches were more than enough to leave the man coming in his boxers without a single stroke. And he cried, silently, profoundly.

Chris held him until he finally drifted into sleep, then rose and fetched a warm washcloth, cleaning Vin up and making sure he was tucked in and sleeping. Then he climbed in beside him, not caring if the others found him there or not. He was done with hiding their relationship. He was done denying that Vin Tanner was more than his best friend, more than a brother. Vin was his partner, his lover, his life, and the rest of the world be damned if they couldn't accept that.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, November 24 th, 1999**

**7:30 a.m.**

 

The next morning Chris watched as Vin stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes still unfocused and slightly glazed. He frowned. He'd gotten up over an hour earlier and was just finishing breakfast.

Being closer, Josiah stood and helped Tanner over to the table, saying, "Here, brother, sit down before you fall down."

"You look terrible," Chris said, worried. He'd hoped that what they're shared last night might help Vin.

"Mornin' t' ya, too, Lar'bee," was the mumbled reply.

"He's right, Vin," Sanchez confirmed, winning a sour look from the sniper for his effort. "I think we ought to call Dr. O'Neill."

"Don't need no doctor," Vin protested, his anger mounting for no apparent reason. "She'll wanna see me. I'll be fine after I've had some coffee."

Josiah left them at the table, returning a few moments later with Vin's prescription bottle. He poured Tanner a glass of juice and handed it to him, then handed over the prescription bottle.

"I really think we should call," Josiah pressed.

Vin's head came up sharply and he exploded, "I said no, damn it! An' I mean it, J'siah. Don't need you two nurse-maidin' me!"

"We're just trying to help," Chris said in a consoling tone that only made Vin more angry.

Tanner opened the bottle and placed one of the capsules on his tongue, washing it down with a gulp of the orange juice. "Ain't askin' fer it, so lay off," he snapped, his accent getting thicker – a sure sign he was either mad, or tired, or both.

Josiah reached out and gently rested his hand on Vin's arm, squeezing slightly. "All right, son, but we're just worried about you. We only want to help, that's all."

"Then just leave me alone," Vin snapped, jerking away from Sanchez and standing. "Don't need yer help."

Chris watched Vin leave, his concern sliding toward worry. He looked over at Josiah, who just shrugged and shook his head. "Some days will be harder than others."

Josiah was right, he knew that, but something was wrong. This wasn't the man he'd loved last night.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**7:40 a.m.**

 

Vin stormed out of the cabin, stomping along the trail that wound up into the trees. He could feel the fear and anger building inside him, but he had no clue where it was coming from. Chris and Josiah weren't to blame. They had only been worried about him. Hell, Chris had held him for hours last night.

 _Y' blew it, Tanner_ , he scolded himself. _Yer gonna push too far one 'a these days an' yer gonna lose the best friends y' ever had. Yer gonna lose Chris_.

He slowed, but continued walking for several more minutes, then forced himself to a stop. Normally he would have enjoyed the scenery, but the beauty was lost on him today. He turned around and started back to the cabin, determined to apologize, and yet growing madder with each passing step.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Three men watched Vin's hasty departure from the cover of the trees across the narrow dirt road leading up to the cabin.

"Yes, oh, yes, He is helping us. He will make sure I have the Chosen One this day," Seiler said.

"You want me to go take care of him?" Tio asked the man.

"No," Seiler responded quickly. "He will guide Vincent back to us. Vincent has a part to play in this dance. He will help Christopher… help him to surrender."

"Can we just get this over with?" McMillan asked. He wanted to get back to his office. Why he had gotten picked to help this psycho, he wasn't sure. But the sooner the ATF agents were dead, the sooner he would be done with Seiler, and that suited him just fine.

Once Vin was out of sight, Seiler led the way to the cabin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

A cell phone chirped.

"I'll get that," Josiah said to a sullen, withdrawn Chris Larabee. He reached out and picked up the ringing phone. "Sanchez."

 _"We found the place,"_ came Buck's voice. _"No sign of Seiler."_

"They found where Seiler held Vin," Josiah relayed.

That interested Chris enough to prompt him to hold out his hand for the phone and Josiah handed it over.

"Talk to me," Larabee said.

 _"Lyons' info was good. We found the location where Seiler held Vin,"_ Buck told him.

"Seiler?"

_"Nothing so far. JD's running down the owner of the building. It's down in Littleton. How's Junior?"_

"Pissed off."

_"And you?"_

"Pissed off."

He heard Buck laugh mirthlessly. _"Yeah, well, you'll both get over it."_

"I want that madman found," Chris stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

_"We're doing our best. I'll let you know when something turns up."_

"You damn well better," Chris mumbled as he rose and headed for the coffee pot, his empty cup in his free hand.

_"Hang in there, stud."_

And with that the call ended. Chris closed the cell phone and slipped it into his pocket, then poured himself a second cup, emptying the pot.

"I'll make some more," Josiah offered.

Chris nodded. "Appreciate it," he replied.

"You all right?" Josiah asked him.

"I don't know. Vin broke down last night… I thought—" Chris started, but before he could continue the rear door of the cabin burst open and three men entered, two of them holding guns.

Seeing the man who had very nearly tortured him to death, Larabee froze for an instant, but it was long enough for the intruders to get the upper hand.

"Inside," Tio directed, jerking his revolver in the direction he wanted them to take.

Seiler smiled. "Hello, Christopher… my Chosen One. It is almost time…"

"Move!" McMillan snapped, wanting to hurry things along.

Chris and Josiah started for the living room, which was the largest room in the cabin, Larabee making sure he stayed between his friend and Seiler.

"Stop," Seiler commanded them.

Josiah and Chris came to a halt.

"Tio," Seiler said, "take the stranger to one of the bedrooms and secure him."

"You want me to kill him?"

"Secure him, Tio," Seiler said, his gaze sweeping over the big profiler. "I may have need of him later."

Tio nodded, shifting his aim to Josiah, who stepped away from Chris and led the way to the first of the small bedrooms.

"In the chair," Tio said after he got a look at the room.

Josiah sat and waited until the younger man started to grab one of the pillowcases to tie him up. He charged, but the street smart youth was quicker. He sidestepped the profiler and brought the butt of his gun down on Sanchez's skull.

Josiah collapsed to the floor.

"Josiah!" came Chris' shouted call.

Tio stepped out of the bedroom, dragging the chair from the room with him. He closed the door and wedged the chair-back under the knob. That chore done, he looked at Seiler and grinned. "He gave me some trouble. He'll be out for a while, but he's still kickin', just like you wanted, boss."

"Good, Tio, very good."

Tio directed Larabee into the living room, shoving him down onto the sofa. He positioned himself so he could keep a watchful eye on the blond while McMillan hung back, content to just watch until Seiler said, "Find the prescription bottle."

The man rolled his eyes but left to carry out the man's wishes.

Seiler walked calmly around the room, fingering various items and smiling to himself. Chris finally broke the silence. "So, what's the plan, Seiler?"

"Plan?" Seiler echoed, shaking his head. "No, Christopher, not a plan. These things are predestined. He shall come, and I shall have her. My sweet, sweet Sarah. I have waited so long for this day… so long. Beauty shall walk among us once more… perfection. She shall be a goddess, Christopher… my sweet Sarah, my goddess."

"Why Vin?" Chris asked. "Why take him when you really wanted me?"

Seiler smiled. "Yes, Christopher, you are the Chosen One… oh, yes," he said, moving over to stand in front of Larabee, "but you were fighting me. _He_ told me. He told me to look for a key. Yes, a key, to your soul… an opening. The eyes are portals to the soul. Did you know that? Your eyes told me that Vincent was the key. And once the key returns we shall begin."

Chris shuddered imperceptibly, his imagination all too eager to interpret what might "begin" when Vin returned. He hoped Tanner wouldn't quit walking until he reached Denver, but he doubted he would get that lucky.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8 a.m.**

 

Vin paced back and forth on the trail, watching the cabin and trying to suppress the rage that boiled inside of him.

 _I could hate 'im so easy_ , he realized. _I don't get it. I love 'im. How c'n I hate 'im? What the hell's wrong with me?_

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stop. He was as antsy as Peso before a storm. Why? Maybe he ought to let Josiah call Dr. O'Neill. Maybe she would know what was wrong with him.

He started for the cabin. _Maybe that crazy bastard scrambled m' brains more 'n I thought. I've got t' apologize t' Chris an' let Josiah call the Doc if he ain't already._

 _Ain't gonna let some psycho like Seiler destroy m' life. M' family. Chris means more t' me 'n anything. Ain't gonna let that bastard take that away from me; lost too damn much already. Ain't gonna lose no more_.

He continued on, still trying to sort out the confused emotions in his mind when he grabbed the front door knob a couple of minutes later. He twisted it and pushed the door open.

The first thing he saw was Chris, sitting on the sofa and wearing a concerned, almost panicked expression.

"Chris—" Vin began as he started to step inside. He stopped, hearing the familiar sound of an automatic being cocked.

"Please, come in and join us, Vincent," Seiler said softly, stepping out of the shadows in a corner of the room. "You are my key, Vincent. It is time for the Chosen One to shed his skin so Beauty can walk among us."

Vin couldn't move. He felt his body begin to shake and it was suddenly impossible to breath. But the hate and the anger that had been directed at Chris earlier now shifted its focus. _Y' fuckin' bastard…_

"You heard the man," McMillan snapped, walking farther into the room, his 9mm aimed at Larabee. "Get in here, and close the fuckin' door."

Vin's gaze shifted to the man. "Tom," he greeted him. "Y' seen Robert lately?"

"Get in here, smartass," the man snarled. He knew Lyons had been grabbed by the feds, and that they were looking for him, too. But Blitzer had promised him they would get him out of the country if he helped Seiler finish whatever it was the nut-case had planned for the two men.

Tanner forced himself through the doorway, his muscles knotting with barely-held-in-check rage. "Where's J'siah?" he asked Chris.

"One of the bedrooms," Chris told him, adding, "He's all right."

"You?" Vin asked.

"So far," Chris acknowledged.

"Ain't that touching?" Tio drawled sarcastically, then chuckled, flashing a grin at McMillan and Seiler. "Lot 'a concern for each other, huh?" He looked at Vin, his eyes narrowing. "You his butt boy or something?"

"Enough, Tio!" Seiler snapped.

"Ain't a damn thing y' c'n do t' bring her back," Vin told the madman.

"You're wrong, Vincent, so very, very wrong. I can summon Him, and He will bring her back to me. He has the power to do anything He chooses."

Chris opened his mouth to reply, but Vin cut him off. "Don't waste yer breath. He's so fuckin' crazy he can't understand dead's dead."

Seiler ignored the remark, asking McMillan, "Did you find it?

The man reached inside his coat pocket and removed the prescription bottle he had found sitting on the kitchen table. He tossed it to Seiler, who caught it and tossed it to Vin.

"Time for your medication, Vincent. Take two."

Vin caught the bottle and looked up at the man, confused.

"Obey me, Vincent, or I will send Tio to kill your friend in the bedroom."

Vin looked from the bottle to Seiler, and back. He removed the cap, tapping two of the capsules into his hand.

"Vin?" Chris asked.

"What else c'n I do?" Tanner asked in reply. "Y' know he'd do it."

Chris' gaze fell away. "Yeah, I know," he replied, but he also knew he didn't want Vin taking anything Seiler wanted him to take.

Vin took the pills and swallowed them dry. When the drugs hit his system, he felt his anger rise again, his control beginning to slip even as the colors in the room became sharper. "They switched m' medication fer that Beauty shit," he half-growled.

"Long-hair's got a brain after all," McMillan sneered.

"Yes, Vincent, I did," Seiler replied, ignoring McMillan.

Vin lunged for Seiler, but Tio grabbed him and held him back, his revolver pressed against the sniper's side. McMillan kept his 9mm trained on Larabee, forcing his cooperation, as well as Tanner's.

"No way, asshole," Tio hissed at Tanner. "You just do what you're told."

"Vincent, you are the key," Seiler said, making his way over to Larabee. "With you I shall unlock the Chosen One. He will come for the Chosen One. He will bring my Sarah. My sweet, sweet Sarah…"

The madman reached into his pocket and withdrew an electric prod, thrusting it at Larabee's chest. The sound of a single scream echoed in the room as Chris shook from the jolt the device delivered.

 _What'd I do t' Chris?_ he thought. _Have t' stay in control. Have t' fight this or I'll get us all killed_.

Seiler motioned to Tio, who forced Vin over to one of the chairs, pushing him down to sit on it. "Do you feel Him, Vincent? He's getting closer. Soon He will be among us – hungry, demanding. Demanding the Chosen One…"

Seiler walked around the back of the sofa, resting his hand on Larabee's shoulder as he watched the drugs Tanner had taken begin their work.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 


	14. Death Strikes Twice 7

Sights… sounds… feelings… all flooded back. Time seemed to dissolve and Vin found himself back in the small cement room where pain was his only reality. Pain that came in so many forms – some expected, some unimaginable. And the man responsible for it looked just like his best friend.

No, that was wrong.

Seiler didn't look like Chris. Seiler had done this to him. Hadn't he?

It couldn't have been Chris. Chris had been holding him last night, making love to him… hadn't he?

He moaned softly, trying to remember, but the memories jumbled up, twisted, and he couldn't sort them out. It made his head hurt. He remembered having to take his brain out and throw it away. But that wasn't possible, was it?

He felt himself starting to shake. Why was he shaking? His gaze caught Larabee's and held. What was Chris doing to him? Why was Chris doing this?

Was Chris doing this? His gaze jumped. Seiler… Seiler was back… Was he still in his cell? Why wasn't Chris helping him?

His expression folded into a mask of desperation. "Chris…" he moaned, beginning to rock back and forth on the chair. His eyes closed, his arms locking protectively around his chest.

Chris stood and moved to Vin's side, kneeling down next to him. Reaching out, he gently touched Vin's arm, watching the man's dark eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks as Tanner flinched away, gasping in pain.

He turned to look at Seiler, demanding, "What the hell did you do to him?"

"He walks with Beauty," Seiler replied calmly. "Strong, so strong. He is strong, Christopher. He is worthy of her, but she chose another. The Chosen One…"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Larabee demanded, his eyes blazing with raw hatred, but McMillan's automatic, still pointed at his chest, kept him from lunging across the room and wrapping his fingers around the man's neck.

"Outside," Seiler commanded, standing. "It is time. Tom, bring the other one as well."

Tio grabbed Vin's arm, the roughness of the move causing the sniper to cry out. Under the influence of the drug it felt as if the man were trying to twist his arm off.

"Get up," the youth snarled, "or it'll hurt a helluva lot more than that."

Tanner lurched to his feet, blue eyes glazed and unseeing. The pain was coming again, and he couldn't stop it.

Chris wrapped his arm around Vin's waist, holding the man on his feet. "Come on," he encouraged Tanner in a whisper. "I've got you, Vin. Hang in there, Cowboy."

Vin didn't seem to hear the words, but he did manage to make it out into the bright morning sunlight. He squinted and turned his face away, growling deep in his throat. The light was slicing into his skull, trying to cut him into pieces…

McMillan followed Seiler out a few moments later, pushing a staggering Josiah roughly to the ground. He stood behind the injured man, his 9mm pressed to the back of the profiler's skull. Chris was unable to help his friend, afraid if he released his grip on Vin, the sniper would fall.

Seiler moved to stand beside Josiah, fishing into his pocket for the electric prod.

"Hit him, Christopher," Seiler directed coldly, gesturing at Vin.

"No," Chris flatly refused.

"Very well," Seiler replied. He pressed the prod to the back of Josiah's shoulder. The big man fell into the dirt, jerking and grunting as the current assailed his body.

Vin blinked several times, the gist of what was happening beginning to sink in. He stared intently at Josiah, knowing the older man couldn't take too many jolts like that without one of them killing him.

"Do it," he hissed at Chris.

"I can't," Chris snarled, more to Seiler than to Vin.

"He'll kill J'siah."

"No," Larabee snapped.

"Now, Christopher, or I shall allow Tio to practice all I've taught him on your friend here," Seiler threatened.

"Do it," Vin hissed through clenched teeth. "Please, Chris."

Chris yelled in frustration, but he spun Vin around and planted his fist in his lover's abdomen. The blow lacked his usual intensity, but Vin still went down on one knee, sucking in air to refill his nearly depleted lungs.

Some part of Vin's mind went blind with rage, but another knew that it was the man standing next to Josiah he should hate, not Chris. Chris had held him, touched him, loved him…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Seiler watched Tanner's face and knew Vin was winning this round. He hissed softly to himself. Vincent _had_ to believe it was the Chosen One who had tortured him.

Vincent _had_ to kill the Chosen One. Only then would He be able to come; to come through Vincent's body to this world. Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, Seiler removed a small blue case and tossed it to Tio. "Open it."

The youth did, finding a syringe that was already filled.

"Give it to him," Seiler stated evenly.

"Why don't you just kill me?" Chris yelled angrily. "That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

"Back off," Tio snarled, shoving Larabee away. He injected Tanner.

 _Can't lose it… can't lose it… can't lose it,_ Vin chanted to himself. _Can't let 'em down. Can't. God, please, don't let me fail 'em. Don't let me…_

Vin felt the drugs surge through his bloodstream like a wave of molten fire, the fog thickening in his mind. He felt the blows begin to fall, the pain overwhelming him…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Hit him again, Christopher!"

Chris threw a half-pulled punch, catching Vin on the jaw and snapping his head back. Vin staggered back a few steps, clearly more disoriented by the drugs than the blow.

McMillan had had enough. He stepped in, delivering a vicious blow to Vin's ribs that dropped the man to the ground where he squinted up at Chris.

Larabee took a step back, looking for an opening to get to Tio or McMillan. If he could get one of their weapons…

"Use the prod," Seiler said to Tio, handing it over.

The younger man grinned maliciously as he moved in on Vin, shoving it against the sniper's shoulder. The resulting shock prompted a strangled cry from Tanner. But this time Vin lurched up off the ground and charged.

McMillan thrust Chris into the path of the oncoming agent.

Tio touched the prod to Tanner's neck.

Vin screamed, wrapping his arms around Chris, slamming him back into the wooden porch railing. Chris tried to push Vin away, but the pain and the drugs made the sniper too strong.

Tanner wrestled him to the ground, scrambling to straddle Chris' thighs, one palm thrust under the blond's chin, forcing his head back as far as it would go. He raised the other hand to smash Chris' face, but hesitated.

"Vin!" Chris called as best he could. "It's me! It's Chris!"

 _No,_ a part of Vin's mind shouted as his hand started down with brutal force.

The fog cleared just enough for Vin to pull the blow, his fist pounding into the dirt instead. "No!" he bellowed.

"You know me," Chris said as the man released his chin. "Stay with me, Vin."

Tio stepped in again, pressing the prod to Vin's back.

Tanner squealed, scrambling off of his best friend and away. He stopped, crouching on his hands and knees. "Gonna kill you!" he screamed as he pushed up off the ground.

Tio wasn't the only one surprised by the power and the speed of Tanner's attack. Slipping one arm around the man's neck, Vin pinned his tormentor in a choke hold. He heaved with the added strength generated by the drugs, lifting the youth up and slamming him to the ground. The sound of the man's vertebrae breaking sounded clearly.

McMillan leveled his gun on Chris, yelling harshly, "Stop! Now!"

Vin froze, chest heaving, hands on his thighs. "Yer gonna die," he spat at the man. "Y' can't stop me. Y' might kill me, but the other two's gonna kill ya. Yer gonna die."

"On the ground!" McMillan shouted, planning to shoot the man as soon as he was no longer a threat.

Chris made no move toward Vin, whose gaze had fallen on Tio's dropped gun.

Blue eyes flickered from the weapon to Larabee and the instant he saw Vin's eyes he knew the sniper was going for the revolver.

"Vincent!" Seiler snapped. "You cannot fight Him. He demands the blood of the Choose One!"

" _I_ choose!" Vin howled. " _I_ choose. _You_ die!" He dove for the revolver.

McMillan reacted, taking aim as Vin's hand closed on the butt of the gun, his thumb pulling back the hammer.

"Vin!" Chris yelled as McMillan pulled the trigger.

Vin jerked as the bullet traced a furrow along his side, but he still lifted the revolver, aiming it not at the man who was shooting at him, but at Seiler.

McMillan fired again, this time hitting the sniper in the upper shoulder. The impact forced Vin back into the dirt as he began to pull the trigger.

Two rounds caught Seiler, the man's body jerking wildly before he crumpled to the ground.

Roused by the sounds of gunfire, Josiah pushed himself up off the ground, tacking McMillan from behind and dragging him down.

Chris lunged, fighting with the man for control of the 9mm as Vin continued to fire at the spot where Seiler had stood, the revolver finally responding with a _click_ when the hammer fell on an empty chamber.

McMillan tried to twist his gun around and fire at Josiah, but Chris grabbed his wrist, snapping it, the resulting spasm of pain making the man's muscles contract. He shot himself, his eyes widening for a brief moment as he realized he'd just killed himself.

Josiah grabbed the man and tossed him aside. "Vin!" he roared.

Chris scrambled across the ground on all fours to Vin's side. Josiah checked to see if the three men were dead.

Chris maneuvered Vin up, leaning him back against his thighs, his head resting on Larabee's shoulder. Checking Vin's wounds, he called to Josiah, "Never mind them! Get me some towels; I've got to stop this bleeding!"

Vin stared up at the pine covered hillside, his eyes glassy. "I knew, Chris."

"Knew what?" Chris asked, still panting as he checked Vin's side. The bullet had traced a quarter-inch furrow along one rib and it was bleeding, but it didn't appear dangerous, but it could be. If the shot had also broken Tanner's rib, it might have driven one end into the man's lung.

"Knew… couldn't… be y'… doin' this… t' me," Vin explained, his voice thick and slurred as shock began to take its toll. "Not after… last night…"

"Josiah!" Chris yelled, and then looked back down at Vin. "I would've died before I did this to you."

"I know," Vin said softly, a slight smile on his lips. "Was… drugs… but I knew…" He trailed off, shaking his head as if to clear it. "'M tired…" he said, his voice getting weaker.

"No, don't sleep," Chris said, shaking Vin slightly. "Come on, Vin, stay with me. Talk to me." He could feel Tanner beginning to relax against him. "Josiah!"

The big man bolted out of the cabin with a handful of towels. Chris grabbed one, pressing it against Tanner's shoulder wound.

The pressure drew a moan from Vin, and he tried to pull away from the ministrations.

"Easy," Chris told him. "I've gotta stop the bleeding."

"Seiler?" Vin asked airily.

"You got him, Vin," Josiah said, stooping over his friend.

"Fuckin'… psycho," Vin slurred, his voice fading.

Josiah could see the concern in Chris' eyes as Larabee said, "Help me get him in the truck. Call the sheriff, have an ambulance waiting at the highway."

Josiah nodded, helping Larabee lift Vin and carry him to the Ram. They put Vin in the bed so Chris would have room to keep the pressure on the bleeding wound.

Josiah ran back inside the cabin, grabbing the keys and his cell phone. He raced back out and climbed in behind the wheel.

"Go! Go! Go!" Larabee yelled at him.

The older man pulled away from the cabin, already dialing 911 as he did.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

In the back of the truck, Chris held his lover. "Vin, can you hear me?"

Blue eyes fluttered opened, but they remained glazed and unfocused. "Chris?" he slurred. Not seeing the man, he began to struggle weakly.

"Easy, Vin, easy. I'm right here."

Vin's eyes dropped closed again. "Thought I's… gonna kill ya."

"You didn't. You saved our lives."

"Almost killed y'… couldn't stop… shot y'… shot y', Chris…"

"No. You didn't hurt me, Vin. It's the drugs. You couldn't hurt me. Understand?"

"Y' were… the wall… hurt me… Did y' hurt me?"

"Shh, easy, Vin, save your strength. We'll get this sorted out, I promise."

"Y' think… she'll come back… if'n I die?"

"Vin, shh, don't talk."

"Be worth it…"

"Easy… That's right… Shh… I have you…"

Vin grimaced as the truck rocked over a rough spot. "Hurts," he yelped.

"I know… Easy…" Chris changed the sodden towel, pressing another against Vin's shoulder. He held it down with as much pressure as he could apply, saying a silent prayer that the bleeding stopped soon.

"Never meant… t' hurt ya…"

"Vin, you didn't hurt me, okay?"

"Chris?"

"I'm right here, Vin," he said, wishing Josiah would pick up the speed.

"I'd… give her… back t' y'… if'n I could…"

"Damn it, Vin, stop talking," Chris said as sternly as he could, tears tracing down his cheeks. "Sarah's dead. I know that, even if Seiler didn't. There's nothing anybody can do to change that."

"Wish I could…"

"I wish I could, too," Chris admitted. "But I can't. And I have you."

"…need family…"

"I know. You're my family, Vin. You hear me? I love you. You're my family now."

Vin reached up, his fingers curling around Chris' arm. "Love y', too… always have…"

"Yeah, I know. Scared the crap out of me, but I knew I loved you," the blond whispered back. "Gonna keep loving you, too. Gonna make love to you, over and over again."

Vin coughed softly. "Ain't good, is it?"

Chris shook his head, but he didn't trust his voice not to break if he tried to speak.

"If I… don't… make it…"

"Don't talk like that," Chris snapped, cutting him off. "You _are_ gonna make it, you hear me? We've been through too much for you to give up now, so you damn well better keep fighting. You hear me, Tanner? You fight, goddamn it!"

"What I kept… tellin' m'self… knew… let y' down… if I gave up…"

"So help me, Tanner, if you don't shut the hell up I'm gonna shove a sock in your mouth! Damn Texan won't string two words together most days. Gets shot and he won't shut the fuck up."

"Fuck you… Lar'bee…" Vin wheezed. "Ain't easy… t' tell… somebody how much… means—" He broke off as they hit another rough spot and gasped.

Chris held Vin tighter. "I know, Vin, I know, okay?"

"Only family… I got… mean… more…"

"I know, I _know_."

"Don't think… could… live… without it."

Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. "Stubborn sonuvabitch, you're not going to shut up, are you?"

Vin tried to speak again, but this time he couldn't find the strength. He settled for shaking his head and felt Chris' arms tighten around him. He rested his head against the blond man's shoulder as he heard him say, "Hang in there, lover, we're almost home."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**5 p.m.**

 

Dr. O'Neill smiled down at Vin and asked, "You again?"

Vin smiled sleepily. _'M alive…_

"Some people never learn, or is it the fine food and accommodations that keeps bringing you back?"

"The comp'ny," he whispered, voice slightly slurred.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "And they told me Wilmington was the charmer."

Vin chuckled airily at that.

"Vin, I have six worried men cluttering my waiting room. Do you think you can take them off my hands for a few minutes?"

He nodded. How was he supposed to know for sure he wasn't dead?

A few moments later, he heard Nathan deluging the doctor with questions as they entered the room. Seeing Vin with various tubes and wires attached to his body silenced him, however.

"Ain't as bad as it looks," Vin managed, his voice dry and rough.

"Not for someone who spent five hours in surgery," Dr. O'Neill said, patting Nathan's shoulder. "Don't worry, he is out of danger. We'll move him out of ICU later today."

"Now that's good news," Buck said, looking relieved.

Chris made it to the bedside and reached out, gently squeezing Vin's shoulder. "See, I told you you'd make it."

"Yeah," Vin whispered, feeling tears of relief and love escaping from the corners of his eyes. "Had lot's 'a inspiration."

"Anytime," Chris replied, knowing exactly what the man was feeling.

"But, please, not any time soon, all right?" Ezra admonished.

Vin nodded his agreement.

Josiah moved over to stand on the other side of the bed.

"Y' okay, J'siah?" Vin asked him.

"Stiff and sore, but I'll be fine; thanks to you."

"All right," Dr. O'Neill said in an authoritative tone, "let's let Vin get some more rest, all right? You can see him later today, once he's moved into a room."

"Hang in there," Chris said softly. "We'll see you later."

Vin nodded, then called, "Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget the pizza."

"No way," Chris told him with a grin. "You rest. Maybe they'll let you have some of the good stuff tomorrow."

Tanner's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"It's Thanksgiving," JD told him.

"And we all have plenty to be thankful for," Nathan added.

"Amen to that, brother," Josiah replied.

It was true, Vin knew. He did have plenty to be thankful for. And all six of them were standing crowded around his bed. His eyes dropped closed as he felt Chris squeeze his shoulder again. "Chris…"

"I'll stay," came the reply he wanted to hear. "I'll be right here."

"'Kay…" He felt himself slipping toward sleep, and felt himself passing his safe place. But he knew he was safe now, he had family who would watch his back and take care of him. He didn't need to hide any more. He had come home at last…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Sunday, November 28 th, 1999**

**2:30 p.m.**

 

          Vin fought back a grin as he watched and listened to Buck and JD arguing over… something. He was stretched out on Larabee's sofa, his belly full. Dr. O'Neill had released him Saturday afternoon, so the Thanksgiving that had been postponed while he'd been recovering was finally celebrated earlier today, complete with turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie, which was all of the huge spread he'd been able to tolerate.

          But the three pieces of pie had definitely left him pleasantly full for the first time in a while.

          The others were still eating, going back and forth to the dining room to fill their plates before returning to the living room and the football games they were watching.

          Nathan stopped to check on him every half-hour or so, and Vin had given up trying to convince the man he was all right. JD was making sure he always had something at hand to drink, and it was Buck who had smuggled in the extra pieces of pie.

          Josiah, who was still moving a little stiffly himself, had provided a pillow and a blanket, so Vin was warm and comfortable on the sofa. Across from him the gas fireplace burned. He wished it was a real wood fire burning on the hearth, but that had been forbidden in an effort to improve the air quality. He still enjoyed the way the flames danced.

          Ezra interrupted his thoughts, bringing him up to date on the scores from various gridiron match-ups, and ending with, "Is there anything I can bring you?"

          "Nope," Vin replied, basking in the peace he felt. He really had found a home here, with these men. It was something he had thought impossible less than a year ago.

          "Then I shall leave you to rest," Standish said, starting to turn away.

          "Ezra?" Vin called softly.

          "Yes?" the man replied, looking back down at Tanner.

          "It was you, wasn't it?"

          "Me?" Standish questioned. "I assure you, I'm not responsible—"

          "When y'all found me, after Seiler, I remember a voice…"

          Standish's cheeks flushed a rosy shade of red. "Uh, well, yes, but we all sat with you, and I would assume we all spoke to you."

          Vin grinned slightly. "I heard ya," he said softly.

          Ezra's mouth snapped shut with a _click_. He blinked rapidly, trying to come up with something to say.

          "Just wanted t' let y' know I heard, an' it helped me find m' way back."

          The undercover man's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "Uh…"

          "Thanks, Ez," Vin said. "Reckon I'd say 'bout the same t' you, if things had been reversed."

          "You would?" the man asked, his voice slightly higher in pitch than usual.

          Vin nodded.

          Standish looked quickly away. "I— I appreciate that, Vin. More than you know."

          "Ain't so sure 'bout that," Tanner replied.

          "Yes, well, I— I think I'll see if there's any more of that wonderful dressing left," he said, hurrying away.

          Vin smiled as he watched him go. He wasn't the only one who had trouble trusting, or building bonds. But if he could do it, so could Standish, whether he wanted to or not.

          Chris walked in, his serious expression enough to quell the argument that Buck and JD were still engaged in.

          "What is it?" Buck asked the blond.

          "Travis called. Lyons is dead."

          "What?" JD asked. "How? He's—"

          "Whoever he's really working for didn't want him talking any more," Larabee said.

          "You mean Mr. Blitzer," Ezra commented.

          Larabee shrugged. "Travis wants us to see what we can find out about good ol' Otto tomorrow," he said, his gaze settling on Vin as he added, "but he said today's a day for giving thanks… for everything we have."

          "Amen to that," Josiah replied.

          "Hear, hear," Ezra added, the others all nodding their agreement.

          Chris walked over to the fireplace and sat down in front of it. Meeting Vin's eyes he asked, "How are you doing?"

          "Never better," Tanner replied.

          Chris nodded. "I was thinking about throwing all these troublemakers out of here in an hour or so," he said. "Thought maybe you and I could talk…"

          Vin nodded. He was ready and, so it seemed, was Larabee. "Sounds good."

That brought a smile to the blond's lips, and it only grew wider when Tanner added, "'Sides, that leaves more 'a Nettie's pumpkin pie for us."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Sunday, December 4 th, 1999**

**8:03 p.m.**

 

          Vin watched as Chris walked in from the bathroom. It was early for them to be going to bed, but they were both still healing, though Chris was closer to "normal" than Vin, if not by much. Vin would be headed back to work tomorrow, and he and Chris had spent a large part of the past week talking, about everything – their childhoods, Sarah, Seiler, their fears, their dreams…

          They hadn't made love again, not since the night before he'd gotten shot, but he had plans for tonight – if he could get Chris to go along. He no longer had any doubts about the man's feelings, but Larabee could be a bigger mother hen that even Nathan, and that was saying something.

          Still, he'd waited as long as was willing to wait. One way or the other, he was making love with Chris tonight.

          "Need anything?" Chris asked him, reaching the side of the bed.

          "Just you," Vin told him, his desire clear in his blue eyes.

          "Christ," Larabee muttered. "You need to get an okay from the doctor."

          "Got one."

          "What?"

          "Talked t' the doc today. She said, and I quote, 'Go for it.'"

          "She did not," Chris replied, then swallowed hard when Vin tossed the covers back. Tanner was naked, his cock hard, his hand busy fondling his balls. "Christ."

          "Get in here, Cowboy."

          Chris hesitated for a second, then his expression turned hungry and slightly feral. He stepped out of his pajamas, leaving them on the floor, and slid in beside Vin, kissing the younger man until he whimpered.

          Pulling back, Chris grinned, then shifted his weight, positioning himself to attack the man's demanding cock. He licked along the shaft, kissed the tip, then sucked the head into his mouth.

          "Oh, God," Vin gasped, his back arching.

          Chris suckled the head, then let it slid to the back of his mouth, teasing the younger man.

          "Chris," Tanner breathed, "need y' inside me… please…"

          Larabee shivered with barely contained desire. More than anything, he wanted to be inside the man, too, but he didn't want to hurt him. He just hoped that the item he'd ordered, and that had finally arrived yesterday, would help.

          He pulled off Vin's cock and said, "Don't move."

          Vin groaned, but he lay right where he was, waiting to see what Larabee was up to. The blond returned shortly with some kind of pillow, at least that's what Vin thought it might be.

          Chris pulled the sheet and blankets out of the way, then placed the wedge-shaped pillow on the bed. Then, holding out his hand, he took Vin's and pulled him up and guided him so he ended up laying over the tall end of the wedge. It was soft and comfortable, and elevated his hips quite nicely. He relaxed and opened his legs.

          "Damn, Vin," Chris growled as the man's legs opened for him, inviting him to join with him. He was still determined to go slow, make sure he didn't hurt the man – even if he wanted to pull his ass cheeks apart and drive his cock up the man's ass.

          He swallowed and took a deep breath, then reached for the tube of KY. He squeezed out a small amount, rubbing it gently into Vin's crack, paying special attention to the tight pucker. His finger rubbed circles over it, pressed, but didn't breach that sacred barrier.

          Vin moaned softly, pressing his hips up slightly, asking Chris to do more.

          Chris added more lube to his finger, then rubbed again, pressed, and this time sank his finger in to the first knuckle, rolling his finger in circles. The moan increased in pitch and ardor.

          Larabee grinned, slowly pressing his finger in all the way, still stirring it in circles.

          "Damn, Chris, hurry up," Vin groaned. "Want t' feel yer cock in there."

          The man's words made Chris' cock dribble, but he was determined to go slow, and make Vin accept it. He slid his finger in and out a few times, then added a second.

          "Oh, yeah," Vin breathed. He understood what Chris was doing, and this time he was willing to go along for the ride. Next time he'd make sure things went a whole lot faster.

          Chris worked Vin's hole, slowly stretching him open, feeling the man's muscles relax. He added a third finger, sliding them in and out, twisting, and scissoring until Vin was gurgling with pleasure. His arms and legs were deadweight, completely relaxed.

          With a smile he used his free hand to slick his cock with lube, then he slowly pulled his fingers free.

          "No, Chris," Vin whimpered.

          "Easy," he replied, moving behind the man and rubbing the tip of his leaking cock up and down Vin's crack.

          "Oh, yeah," Vin breathed, "want y' inside me… want y' fillin' me up…"

          "Oh, I'll fill you up," Chris replied, pressing at the already opened hole. The head of his cock slipped inside, but he stopped there. "Gonna fill you all the way up, Vin," he said, starting to rock his hips, slowly sinking into the tight heat. Vin's body opened for him, allowing him to glide in until he was buried to the root.

          The sigh of pure pleasure that escaped Vin's lips made Larabee's cock swell.

          Chris reached out, lightly scratching down Vin's back as he began to thrust slowly in and out. He squeezed Tanner's ass cheeks, pulling them open wide so he could watch his cock disappearing inside the man's body.

          "Oh, yeah," Vin breathed, "feels so good, Chris… need y' so much… love y' so much…"

          "Love you, too," Larabee said, leaning forward and sliding his hands under Vin's chest, finding the hard nubs and teasing them as he ground the root of his cock against Vin's ass.

          Tanner squealed softly, his hips trying to rise, but he was unable to manage it. Chris chuckled softly, running his hands down Vin's belly, locating his cock and pulling on it as he began to rock faster.

          Vin moaned. "Yeah, that's it…"

          Chris wanted to keep things slow, but his body had its own ideas. Leaning back, he gripped Vin's hips and let his own desire to take over. His hips picked up speed and power.

          "Oh, yeah… that's it… damn, Chris…"

          Knowing he needed to feel Vin come before he came himself, he leaned back over and found the man's cock, doing his best to jerk him to climax as he continued to plunge into the man's ass.

          "Chris… s' close…"

          Larabee picked up the pace a little more, a part of his mind worried he might hurt Vin, but the sounds he was making had nothing to do with pain.

          Tanner began to shake, his fingers curling into his pillow. "Chris!" he cried.

          Chris felt the man's come fill his hand and the muscles wrapped around his cock began to dance. That sensation stripped the last of his control and he sank into Vin, his body quaking with release.

          Vin mewed his displeasure when Chris finally pulled free and climbed form the bed.

          "I'm not going anywhere," Chris whispered into his ear, helping Vin off the wedge.

          Together they made their way into the bathroom. Chris ran a warm bath in the overly large tub and the two men climbed in, relaxing in the water. Chris held Vin to his chest, enjoying the way the younger man slumped against him, practically purring with delight.

          "You okay?" Chris asked, reaching for the soap and washcloth.

          "M' fine," Vin said, a crooked grin on his face.

          Larabee lathered the washcloth and began to clean his lover.

          "Damn, Chris, yer too good t' me."

          "Never."

          "Yeah, y' are, but I love y' fer it."

          Chris chuckled. "Anybody ever tell you that you get sappy after sex?"

          "Fuck you, Larabee."

          "Next time."

          That caused Vin to sit up and turn around to look at his lover. "You serious?"

          Chris nodded. "Figured it's about time I have one of those mind-bending orgasms you have."

          Vin purred and pushed close, licking along Chris' jaw, "Any time, Cowboy."

          "Damn, Vin, you're gonna be the death of me."

          "Not a bad way t' go, though."

          "Nope," he agreed. _Hope to hell we can go together…_

 

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

* ~ *


End file.
